I didn't mean it
by skag trendy
Summary: Sam’s been getting under foot, and fun though little brother hero-worship is, Dean really wants some alone time. Sending the kid out on a wild goose chase seemed like a good idea at the time… Limp/Hurt/Heartbroken Sam, Guilty/Worried/Angsty Dean
1. Maybe later

**I didn't mean it…**

A series of one-shots where Dean unintentionally hurts his little brother…

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**Story title: Maybe Later**

**A/N on the ending: This is what I would **_**like**_** to imagine, so in a sense it's a complete AU...Sadly.**

Dean 10, Sam 6.

"Stop it Sam."

"Come on Dean I'm bored."

"I'm busy, go play out in the parking lot on ya own or somethin'."

"M'not allowed. Dad said."

"Yeah well, he aint on the planet right now." John was in fact dead to the world, snoring away on his bed.

"Daddy says it's dangerous to play out there, 'cos of all the cars."

Dean huffed and slammed down the latest issue of Kerrang! _– acquired from the top shelf of the local store by virtue of a footstool, some quick thinking and a lot of stealth_ - to meet the wide, sad eyes of his little brother. Guilt instantly assailed him; he knew he hadn't been paying much attention to the little guy of late, and Sammy was feeling pretty lonely. There weren't many kids round here of Sam's age, not that it mattered. The kid always preferred to hang out with his big brother, following him around like a puppy dog whenever he could.

Still, Sammy had his uses; after all he _was_ real cute and had the local chicks cooing over him. Dean was more than a little too young for most of them but that didn't mean he couldn't practice his boyish charm, and he already had a few phone numbers. Ok, two were offers to babysit and at least one was to pass on to his father, _'just in case...ya know, he feels like some company...'_ Yeah Dean got the picture alright! _Eeeewwww!_

"It's a parking lot Sammy, there won't be any cars movin' around 'til everyone gets home from work in a few hours."

"Please Dean?" Sammy held out the large multicoloured ball with both hands, shy smile on a face ever hopeful.

Dean stared at him for a moment, already giving in. "You go on ahead, I'll be out in a minute." He just wanted to finish reading this article on the latest Motorhead tour, then he'd go play catch with the little shit. He watched out the corner of his eye with a fond grin as his little brother bounced gleefully off the bed, landed on the floor with a small thud and immediately set off at a run out the apartment door, a big happy smile on his face. Dean shook his head in amusement.

He liked it here; it was a quiet neighbourhood, a decent school just down the road, and plenty of hot babes for Dean to enjoy. It wouldn't be long before they moved on from here so Dean was determined to make the most of it…

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud squeal of brakes, a sickening thud, and someone screamed. Instinct kicked in and Dean was out the door and running down the sidewalk, out into the parking lot where he skidded to a halt in shock.

Sammy lay unconscious on the tarmac, face up, blood pulsing from a vicious cut above his left eye. The offending vehicle didn't seem to have sustained nearly as much injury as Dean's little brother, though blood-smeared cracks spider-webbed across the windshield. Dean nearly threw up on seeing that; Sam's poor head must have collided with it when he flew up onto the hood….

Dean dropped to his knees, automatically checking for a pulse just like his Dad taught him, ignoring the near-hysterical driver, who was babbling on about _a ball bouncing into the road, a small kid coming out of nowhere_. Dean wasn't interested in details at this stage.

"Sammy can you hear me? Come on, please wake up kiddo." He was rewarded when two unfocussed eyes blinked slowly open and Sam whimpered in pain. "That's it, just take it easy. No Sammy, don't move!" Large tears filled Sam's eyes and over- spilled to roll down his face as the little boy began shivering under the hot midday sun. "Sorry buddy, didn't mean to yell at you."

Dean shrugged out of his thin button-down shirt and hastily draped it over his brother. He knew the signs of shock when he saw it, and sought to comfort Sam as best he could. He'd already heard someone talking on a cell phone and pretty soon wailing sirens sounded from the bottom of the street.

"I…sssorrry…D…Dean…" Sam whispered, eyes filled with pain. "You in tr…trouble wi…D…Dad?"

Dean smiled, blinking back tears, "no Sammy. I'm not in trouble with Dad." _No more than I deserve_. "You got nothing to be sorry for kiddo, don't you worry about a thing. You're gonna be ok. I'm gonna take care of ya."

Sammy was fighting hard to stay awake, not wanting to leave his brother, but when a kind voice asked Dean to step back, Sam began to panic.

"D…Dean?" His panic grew worse when something was fastened round his neck and he couldn't move his head, couldn't find his brother. "Dean! I want Dean!"

"Easy there little guy, you're gonna be fine." That same kind voice spoke softly, trying to keep him calm. But only one person could achieve all that.

"No…!" It turned into a raging panic attack that left Sam panting fiercely, unable to catch his breath. He fought back when some kind of plastic _thing_ was forced over his mouth and nose, muffling his voice. "De…"

"Sammy its ok, I'm right here." And suddenly Dean was there beside him again, stroking his hair as Sam stared up at him, eyes wide with fear. "Slow it down or ya gonna pass out like a girl dude."

Sam was still clearly terrified but the panic began to lessen with Dean there. He felt himself being lifted…then someone was tightening straps across his body, tying him down and Sammy panicked all over again.

"Dean…can't move," he virtually squeaked out.

"You're not supposed to move Sammy, you're hurt and they need to keep you still until you get to the hospital." Dean kept up the smile and pretence that everything was ok, though in truth he had no idea just how badly Sam was injured. He hoped and prayed it was just superficial cuts and bruises, but with the way their luck was going it was anybody's guess. "Just stay cool little dude; these guys are tryin' to help you. Ok? Ya with me?"

Frightened eyes locked with his and Sam just about managed a nod around the neck brace, his breathing now much easier. Dean ruffled his hair playfully and kept talking to him, keeping up the cheery attitude, and trying not to break down and cry. Sam looked so tiny strapped to the gurney, the oxygen mask way too big for his little face.

Dean felt guilty as hell, knew he was responsible for this, _knew he was in the shit_. If he'd just gone outside and played catch when Sam had wanted, he would have been there to prevent his little brother getting hurt.

_Pleasebeokpleasebeokpleasebeok…_

Once in the ambulance, the EMT carefully bathed the cut on Sam's head, wiping away the blood to reveal a nasty laceration that to Dean's expert eye was going to need stitches. His heart clenched, knowing he'd be forever responsible for Sam's first stitches, but at least it wasn't likely to scar, not with how quickly skin that young could heal.

Sam flinched under the EMT's ministrations and Dean gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Keep your eyes on me Sammy and it won't hurt so much." And like magic it worked. Dean always wondered about that.

When his brother started blinking rapidly Dean knew something was wrong. "Sammy stay awake, Sam?"

With a soft whimper, Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and the EMT started urgently checking his blood pressure, pulse, breathing and temperature, then set up an IV in the kid's arm to counter the shock.

Dean was frantic when Sam didn't respond to his voice and was on his feet shouting at him to wake up. Strong arms went round him, forcing him to sit and calm down, and it took Dean a few seconds to realise it was the same EMT.

"It's ok, he just passed out that's all. Poor kid's a little overwhelmed, but he's stable, vital signs are good, and there doesn't seem to be any signs of a concussion, which is pretty lucky given how hard he hit his head…."

Dean stopped listening after the 'vital signs are good' part but he was pretty sure the medic was rambling away, probably quoting an entire medical journal at him, but he didn't care.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

On arrival at the hospital, Dean followed his brother into the trauma room, still holding tightly on to his hand.

"Son? Is there somebody we can call? We need to contact your parents." A tall, pretty nurse with short dark hair and hazel eyes smiled softly, and Dean could almost hear the _aw isn't that cute, looking after his little brother like that_. Realising that he'd forgotten all about his Dad during the chaos, Dean decided to play on her sympathies a little.

"Uh, it's just us and our Dad. Mom died when Sammy was just a baby," Dean stared sadly at the floor. "I was only four." Sam wasn't the only one with puppy dog eyes in the family, and the pretty nurse sucked in a harsh breath when a set of beautiful tear-laden green eyes turned her way. "Could you call my dad? He was asleep in his room when Sammy got hit by that car. He had to work late last night. I was supposed to be lookin' after Sam for just a couple hours. Guess he won't let me do that no more." The mournful gaze returned to floor, tears finally sliding down his face.

He neglected to mention that said work didn't involved pulling beers at the local bar, but consisted of hunting down a particularly nasty witch and making sure she never cursed anyone again, though Dean's already rather cynical young mind was beginning to wonder about that.

The nurse cupped his jaw and gently turned his head to face him, thumb wiping the tears away. "It's ok honey. Your daddy won't be mad, he'll just be glad you're both safe and sound."

She really _was_ very pretty and Dean didn't even mind her talking down to him like he was a five year old. And besides, when she bent over him like that, _he could see right down her…_

A small whimper from the gurney distracted his train of thought.

"Sam _is_ gonna be ok, right?" Dean looked over at his little brother with genuine concern now. Sammy was beginning to stir right in the middle of having his stitches and Dean could see trouble brewing very quickly if he didn't make his presence known.

"Hey Sammy, how ya feelin' dude?" Dean asked gently, relieved to see that any lasting residual panic was gradually fading as soon as Sam clapped eyes on him.

"Dean, where are we?" Sam asked anxiously, in that loud exaggerated whisper children often used, mistakenly thinking no one can hear them, and that their secret is safe if they _whisper just so._

"Uh, we're in the hospital. Remember Sam? You got hurt and now these guys are gonna fix you right up."

The two nurses grinned at each other and even the doctor that now entered the cubicle smothered a small smile. These boys were just too cute, the older brother looking after the younger one, keeping him calm and tolerating his fears.

"Ok Sam, we're gonna take you for a scan and x-ray." The doctor saw Dean's worried expression and hurriedly explained, not wanting to cause anymore distress. "It's standard procedure after a road traffic collision, especially in someone as young as Sam. We just want to make sure everything's ticking over nicely." _This _guy was talking to him like an adult and Dean respected that. The doctor glanced at Sam's notes and turned away.

The pretty nurse returned and smiled at Dean. "Your father's on his way, he won't be long."

"Was he mad?" Dean asked cautiously.

"No honey just worried. You're brother's gonna be a while, why don't you come with me and we'll go get you something to drink?"

Dean's worried eyes followed the gurney as it was wheeled from the room; Sam had been antsy at the idea of Dean not being there, but Dean soon convinced him it was ok and that he'd come find him as soon as he'd spoken to their Dad.

He only hoped Sammy remained calm for just long enough, because when his little brother lost his temper the whole damn world knew about it.

For some weird reason, that reminded Dean of someone...

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John's imposing figure strode through the door of the ER, shouting loud enough for Dean to hear him clear through the glass of the office. The pretty nurse had let him sit there quietly nursing his soda for the time being, but now he was on his feet, nervously making his way out to face the music. He had no excuses, it was his fault, and now his father was mad as hell.

"Dad?"

His father stopped and turned. Any anger John was feeling soon drained away at the sight of his oldest son, pale and virtually swaying on his feet with exhaustion. Scrubbing a hand over his face, John gently grasped Dean's arm and led him back into the office, closing the door quietly behind them.

"Dean what happened exactly?"

Dean took a shuddering breath as the events of the last few hours caught up, and a bad case of verbal diarrhoea hit him. The words poured uncontrollably from his mouth and John soon realised his son was in delayed shocked.

"I'm sorry s'my fault all my fault I sent Sammy out to play with his ball in the parking lot thought it would be safe an' I told him I'd be out ina minute and he got _hurt_ dad 'cos of me he got hurt…" Dean gasped for air amidst a panic attack as full realisation hit him for the first time.

_SammycouldhavediedSammycouldhavedied…_

"Easy there son." John hooked his foot round a chair, dragging it close and forcing Dean to sit. "Just calm down."

He pushed Dean's head between his knees and instructed him to take slow deep breaths; Dean vaguely realised he'd said almost the exact same things to his little brother not so long ago, and for some reason it helped him get back some semblance of control.

"Ok now kid? Feelin' better?" At Dean's hesitant nod John let him up again. "Come on, we'll talk about this later. Let's go see how Sammy's doin'."

He smiled at the worried look on Dean's face.

_Oh you'd better believe we're talkin' about this later!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey there son." John smiled softly when Sammy opened sleepy eyes to gaze up at him, and he stroked his fingers soothingly through the kid's soft hair. "How's the head?"

"S'ok. M'tired." Sam blinked slowly, then glanced around the room, frowning slightly. "Where's Dean?"

"I'm right here Sam." A very subdued Dean popped up, leaning over their father's shoulder. Sam sniffed, grimacing at the irritation just beneath his nose. When he tried to remove whatever was causing it, John gently slapped his hand away.

"Leave that tube in for now. You need it." He couldn't help but grin when Sam pouted at him. "Just until morning, then we can take you home."

Sam's eyes widened with sorrow. "Can't we go home now Daddy? _Puleeease?_"

"Nope. Doctor's orders." John replied, a little amused at his youngest son's determination, and he smoothed the blankets down. "They take noggin injuries pretty seriously round here, not to mention those are some nasty bruises on your body." _But then hitting the grill hard enough to knock you up and over into the windshield will do that. _"You're lucky it wasn't any worse. Just get some sleep Champ, and it'll be morning before you know it."

Sam nodded and reached out for his brother's hand, but Dean turned away from him without another word and silently left the room. Sammy sniffed again and his bottom lip began to tremble, eyes filling with tears.

"Daddy? Does Dean hate me?"

"_No_ of _course_ not Sammy," his father replied, keeping up that soothing action with Sam's hair. "He's just tired and little upset right now, but not with you."

"S'not his fault Daddy, I dropped the ball and ran out in fronta the car...din see it. He told me he'd be there soon but I...I..._I'm sorry Dad_." Sam finished on a tired whisper.

"Don't you worry 'bout that now. I'm just glad you're safe kiddo." _But we're gonna have a serious talk about road safety real soon._

John stayed a little while longer, talking to Sam quietly until the poor kid finally gave into exhaustion, eyes slipping shut and sleep claiming him.

John sat back for a moment, wondering just how he was going to handle this one. The last thing he wanted was a yelling match, either here or at home, and frankly any punishment or guilt trips he could lay on his oldest boy couldn't be anywhere near as bad as what Dean was doing to himself right now. In fact, the kid was being a _darn_ sight harder than John would have been.

John could only imagine what was going through Dean's mind. He'd let his guard down once before and Sam had nearly died when a shtriga attacked him. John had been pretty hard on him back then, even meant to apologise for it, but time just moved on and the moment sort of slipped away.

But not this time. Sure, Dean should have kept a better eye on what his brother was doing, but that didn't excuse John's responsibility in all this. It was a hell of a lot to put on a ten year old kid's shoulders, and maybe Dean wasn't ready for it...

...no, that wasn't fair. Dean was _more_ than ready and _more _than willing; the kid would give his life for Sam.

The question John needed to ask himself was _should_ a ten year old be ready?

Dean _should_ have been entitled to sit reading his magazine in peace, _should_ have been allowed to go have fun without his brother once in a while. He was growing up fast and needed his space.

John shook his head in despair. The life they led was just far too complicated, but he couldn't stop now. Theirs was no ordinary family, with no ordinary family history and things had to be different for them.

But he needed to talk to Dean, let him know he was doing a good job. And not because of the guilt clearly stamped on Dean's face for the entire world to see...

_... but because of the quiet words from the EMT that brought Sam in, and the nurses, the doctor...all had taken the time to speak to John and praise him for raising such a fine boy._

John's heart was about bursting with pride. Dean had taken such good care of his injured little brother, keeping him safe, warm and secure waiting for the ambulance, staying light hearted and reassuring Sammy at all times during the Emergency Room treatment.

And now the kid was killing himself over the guilt.

And that _just wasn't right!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"We need to talk dude."

Dean nodded but didn't look up from his intense scrutiny of the floor outside Sam's room. John could tell he'd been crying again but made nothing of it, just sat in the chair next to his oldest son and joined him in the floor examination.

"Clean place huh? Better than that last hospital we were at." John tutted. "You could almost _see _the MRSA and C.diff crawlin' up the walls."

He sensed another hesitant nod, disappointed but not surprised at the lack of a verbal response. Time to take the initiative.

"I'm prouda you boy." John said quietly, and heard the swift intake of breath. "You did good with Sam, everyone here said so. Damn shame I have to hear it from strangers to acknowledge it though, but that aint your fault kid."

Dean turned to face him with _what? _written across his face.

John chuckled sadly. "Yeah ya gonna tell me you screwed up, but I shoulda been there too." He rolled his head towards his astonished son. "But it turned out ok, and if it's any consolation, Sammy's in there blamin' himself. For gettin' you in trouble."

"But I _shoulda_ been there Dad..."

"Now hold on son, lookin' after a kid of Sam's age aint no easy job, and even the very best of parents make mistakes, have close calls. Just like this one." John smiled at the uneasy expression on Dean's face. "We just have to learn by it. That's all we can do at the end of the day." His own expression turned serious. "Me included."

Dean stared at him for along moment, not knowing what to say.

"Now get in there, 'cos knowin' that brother of yours? He'll be awake soon enough askin' for ya. You ever know Sammy to sleep the whole night through?" John's smile returned. "That kid worships you ya know. And I can see why."

Dean bowed his head for a moment before slowly getting to his feet. "Thanks Dad."

John just nodded and watched his oldest son go make peace with his brother.

_You're more than welcome kid._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

**Hope you enjoyed it and please let me know if you did. Any ideas for further one shots to this new series are welcome; all I would ask is of you is not to include season4 since I haven't seen any yet, and am desperately trying to stay spoiler free.**

**Those waiting on the promised conclusion to Consequences (The epileptic Sam story) I do apologize; the chapter is pretty much finished but due to a cock up in the emails from work last night...I won't go into it. It's too complicated. Hope to have it sorted soon. But many thanks for all your support.**

**Kind regards,**

**ST.xxx.**


	2. Sparring partners

**I didn't mean it: Story two.**

Times when Dean unintentionally hurt his brother.

**Sparring Partners.**

This is for Spuffyshipper, Devon99 and Criminally Charmed, all of whom contributed their own wonderful ideas and I just sort of put them all together into one big bunny.

Hope I've done it justice girls!

Dean 18, Sam 14.

Warning: Underage drinking. Sexual overtones though nothing heavy. I must apologize but I've painted Sam as a really sweet, shy and innocent kid at first, then just plain hurt and angry a little later. Right before all the wonderful limpness of course!

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Leaning against the Impala, Dean watched his brother with a proud smirk. The kid had done good that was for damn sure.

_Whoohoo! Boy! Was that girl smokin'or what? _

Long dark hair flowing down to her tiny waist, dark pretty eyes and a killer smile. That mouth was full, red, plump and begging to be kissed. Begging to be kissed by _Sam._

Sam was being his usual shy self, smiling behind that long chestnut fringe, so nervous he looked almost constipated, and Dean was dying to yell out _f__or Christ sake just kiss the girl!_

It almost happened and for a moment there Dean thought the deal was sealed. She was leaning in close, up on tip toes as if whispering a secret, and Sam, the big doofus, just freaked. He stumbled back, nearly tripping on his own feet, and Dean just knew the kid was muttering apologies. Another quick shy smile and Sam was virtually running to the car. He didn't stop to acknowledge his brother just wrenched open the passenger door, climbed inside and slammed it shut again.

Dean had still been leaning against the car when his whirlwind of a little brother had disappeared inside, and now he pursed his lips in barely concealed amusement. Sammy was no Casanova that was for sure but lots of girls liked that shy innocence and supergeek brain of his. It was unfortunate that Sam usually had his head buried too far inside a book to notice, and wouldn't have known what to do about it anyhow.

_Which means this little lady must have gone to some special effort to get his attention._

_Hmm._

Dean gave a yawn and a stretch then slipped behind the wheel. Sam sat in the passenger seat, head bent, hair blocking Dean's view of his face. It was clear who was taking the initiative in _this_ conversation.

"So, good day at school?" Dean tried the obvious question first.

"Uhuh." Sam didn't raise his head or make a move to look at Dean. His voice made him sound like a little boy again; a very shell shocked little boy.

Dean decided to strike whilst the iron was hot, rip off the Band-Aid, go for the jugular…_torment his little brother with ill disguised glee!_

"Who's the brunette? The one trying to wedge her tongue down your throat?"

"What?" Sam squeaked, practically jumping in his seat, his school books spilling into the foot well. "N…no one was tryin'…I…I barely know her…she's in my science class…"

Sam had been moved up a year when the assignments appeared to easy for him, something else that caused him great embarrassment.

"Relax dude, only us here." Dean laughed affectionately. "So, come on. Tell me all about her, and in particular why she's interested in a geek like you."

Sam was silent for so long that Dean wondered if he'd pushed him too far.

"Uh…she's having trouble with her Chemistry assignment and…uh…asked me for help. That's all it is." Sam seemed to sink further into the seat and turn towards the passenger window. "She wouldn't be interested in someone like me for anything else," he said so softly Dean almost didn't hear him.

Dean stifled a snort. Sam had no idea the effect he had on girls, never saw the googly eyes turn his way whenever he shuffled by. He was tall for his age and probably had more growing to do, so he stood out in a way that Sam seemed to resent. The kid hated being at the centre of attention, preferring to slink by in the background, shoulders hunched over as if to make himself smaller than he actually was. It never worked.

Dean made a decision and pulled over to the side of the road. "Hey." He called softly as if coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding and Sam turned his head, sad eyes peeking at his older brother from underneath the hair. "Give yourself some credit huh? Jeeze kid, you're only fourteen years old! Plenty of girls out there would be interested in you, but you aint the type to settle for some quick roll in the hay and a friendly goodbye, and they sense that. That's _my _gig anyhow!" Dean chuckled at the small smile forming on Sam's face. "You're more the settling down kind, which means you're looking for someone with an actual _personality_, and yeah, probably a galactic-size brain to match yours."

Sam laughed softly at that. "Yeah, maybe."

"No maybe about it. Now let's get home and if you're a good boy I'll let you order pizza." Even the mock patronising tone didn't detract from Sam's pleasure at the mention of pizza.

"Sounds good."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Same time the next day, and yeah, that girl was back and this time draping herself over Sam like a very pretty blanket. As he watched, Dean realised there was something familiar about her, but it wasn't until Sam got in the car that the truth came out.

"Uh…Dean? That girl yesterday? She's Derek's sister. Ya know…"

Dean kept his eye on the road, "You mean Sonia? Sonia Castle?" He lightly thumped the steering wheel in triumph. "Thought I knew her from somewhere."

His enthusiasm almost faltered.

"Nice family." Dean mentioned casually.

Dean neglected to mention the necking session they'd had in her parent's garage during one very drunken party. It hadn't gone any further than that, she was after all just a kid and Dean wasn't into jailbait, but she really was a little hotty and Dean had been _so_ drunk that night. But not so drunk he'd forgotten who he was with. Dean did _try_ to be a gentleman.

That was months ago, hardly worth mentioning now, right? Right!

"She's a year older, ya sly dog!"

"S'only a year," Sam muttered a little defensively

"So, you guys are on a first name basis huh? That's good. When's the first date?" Dean glanced over very quickly and noticed his little brother slowly turning red. "Well? You asked her out right?"

"Uh…no…she sorta…" Sam bit his lip nervously and Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _"Askedme."_

"Huh? Really?" Dean broke out into a broad grin. "Well damnit Sammy, you finally gonna get that cherry popped? I'm prouda ya kiddo!"

"Nothing like that," Sam mumbled, face going from red to beetroot with embarrassment. "Besides, we're both underage…"

"Aw come on! I'm just kiddin'. Relax!" Dean chuckled, feeling a burst of pride for his kid brother. "So come on, she's hot as Hades; when's the date and where?"

Sam was back to mauling his bottom lip again. "She didn't say, just told me to meet her after school tomorrow." And Dean _heard_ him swallow nervously, even above the roar of the engine.

"You'll be ok. I'm meeting Derek and the boys tomorrow night so that'll keep her big brother off ya back huh?" He winked then leaned over, nudging Sam playfully with his elbow. "Huh?" It was the suggestive waggling of the eyebrows that had Sam laughing out loud.

"Stop it Dean." Sam choked out. "It's just a date."

Dean shook his head in amusement. "Aw Sammy…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam stood outside the school gates, left leg jiggling nervously. He checked his watch for the fifth time since final class; Sonia was ten minutes late. No big deal. Could be any number of reasons for being late. Like…

Sam tried to wrack his brain for a reason, any reason.

'_Cos I'm such a loser?_

"Sorry I'm late Sam, that old bastard history teacher kept me back." Sonia appeared at a run, carrying a pile of books that were about to take a tumble. Sam smiled and took them from her as she continued chatting away. "Apparently he was disappointed with my assignment and thinks I can do much better…" She rolled her eyes in distain but didn't bother to thank Sam for carrying her books. She didn't need to and Sam wouldn't have noticed anyhow. He was too smitten by her pretty smile and the way those gorgeous catlike eyes stared up at him. She seemed utterly fascinated with him and Sam had to fight the overwhelming instinct to hide behind his fringe again. He was never comfortable with close scrutiny and the way Sonia watched him was certainly intense. _But in a good way._

_Maybe this'll work out after all._

"So, wh…what did you have in mind for our date?" Sam inwardly cursed himself for the stutter. But even worse, he noticed the way she stiffened up when he said the word 'date', and Sam cringed with even more embarrassment. Thinking back to the conversation they'd had the evening before, he realised she'd never actually used the word 'date'. Sonia merely asked if he wanted to hang out after school, but he had no idea if that qualified as an actual _date_.

_Ah shit. Way to screw it up Sam._

Fortunately she didn't call him on it; perhaps she sensed his embarrassment or just chose to ignore the faux pas. Sam just heaved in a silent breath of relief when Sonia chatted on.

"My folks are away on business again so my brother's having a party. Thought maybe we could sneak in, grab a few beers and go up to my room, have some fun….whadya say Sam?"

Sam wanted to say a lot of things. Sam wanted to run and hide. Sam wanted to jump back a few days in time and start again, complete with never having agreed to this in the first place.

_Her brother's having a party? Oh my god, Dean will be there and he'll embarrass me or worse I'll embarrass him, 'cos no normal guy hangs out with his kid brother at parties, and he'll kill me and…_

Sonia was waving a hand in front of his face and looking rather puzzled. "You ok there?"

Sam blinked and tried to keep his panic at bay. "Huh? Yeah! Long day, long _week_."

Sonia nodded in agreement. "Got that right. So you wanna go to the party with me?"

He couldn't back out now, and if he were honest a small part of him was actually looking forward to it. Sam had never really drunk beer before and had never been to a party, except the jelly-and-ice-cream-pass-the-parcel variety.

And he'd been six years old at the time.

And he'd never won the prize, even at his once ever _own_ birthday party.

Maybe tonight he would, and gazing into her eyes, completely unaware of the total adoration his own were showing, he'd win _the _special prize. Someone that loved him for _him_. And that was all the prize he really wanted.

Maybe he could steer clear of his brother, and besides Sonia _had_ used words like 'sneak' and mentioned going to her room so she obviously didn't want to be seen either. He realised his thoughts were on overdrive again and sought to behave like a normal human for once, instead of the emotional, hormone driven _needy_ freak he was rapidly becoming.

"Yeah, sounds great." Sam nodded with enthusiasm. "Uh, are you sure it'll be ok with your brother?" _Yeah, yeah, goodytwoshoes strikes again._ But paranoia demanded he checked.

Sonia merely winked and linked her arm in his.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey Dean my man! Glad you could make it!" Derek clapped his latest guest on the back with a genuine smile. "Wanna beer?"

"Sure." Dean grinned back and willingly accepted the chilled bottled Corona, topped with a slice of lime. Lime in beer? _Way_ too girly, but he could make an exception in this case. Derek's family were loaded and only drank the very best beer, and chilled Corona sure did taste good with a wedge of lime. Dean soon compensated by taking a quick glance round to make sure no one was watching, then forced the lime down into the bottle neck and hid the evidence with the palm of his hand.

The house was packed and it was only seven o'clock. Dean was still on his first beer but a lot of the other kids were already pretty drunk; he shook his head at their stupidity. The night was way too young to be wasting time yelling Huey Lewis down the throne.

Dean had just made up his mind to join the game of poker in the library when he spied two familiar figures through the kitchen door.

Sonia appeared; dragging a very nervous looking Sam behind her, stole two beers from the cooler and yanked on the poor kid's hand. Dean grinned. _Finally the kid's getting some action._

Derek knew what happened in the garage at the last party, mainly because Dean owned up, feeling too guilty at taking advantage of his friend's baby sister, and after a brief shouting match and a few punches were thrown, Derek finally agreed that it was down to drunken behaviour and sent his little sister to her room, promising a stern talk about the dangers of drinking and meeting strangers at parties.

But Dean hadn't bothered to mention that Sonia was now potentially dating his little brother. Derek didn't need to know that at this stage, and Sam wasn't the type to take advantage anyhow. Sam would want a _relationship_ before all that happened.

With a wry grin Dean slid into the shadows, hiding behind a couple of guests that were getting _real_ friendly with each other. Their convenient cover provided him with a front row seat as Sonia leaned up and gave a startled Sam a chaste kiss on the lips. Dean had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing as Sam almost went cross-eyed with fear. Then again...maybe this wasn't such a laughing matter after all; Sam's behaviour was telling Dean something important here.

He knew Sam wasn't gay, though his chronic shyness of all things female had Dean wondering in the early days of Sam's puberty. The kid had too big a crush on Seven of Nine from Star Trek Voyager for _that_ to be possible. Sam practically drooled every time the hot blond appeared on screen, not that Dean could blame him.

So that just left…._oh man!_

Sam's never been kissed before?

Remembering his own brief experience with Derek's little sister, Dean smiled broadly. If this truly was Sam's first time kissing a girl then he was in for a real treat.

_Way to go Sammy!_

Dean watched the two youngsters retreat up the darkened staircase with pride.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Uh…Sonia? You _sure_ this is ok? I mean, your brother won't barge in here and kick the shit outta me for being in your bedroom, right?" Sam asked anxiously. Where Sam was tall and wiry, Derek was average height but as broad shouldered and muscular as a bull. Even with all his unarmed combat training, if that guy decided to charge Sam wouldn't stand a chance.

Sonia giggled, causing a small unaccountable shiver of delight to roll down Sam's spine. She sounded as pretty as she looked and right now he was mesmerised by her. Sonia had lit some candles on the dresser, arranged some cushions against the bed on the floor in front of a large computer monitor, and to his confusion began booting up the hard drive.

"He won't come up here. Downstairs is where it's all at." She leaned over the keyboard and Sam heard a few clicks of the mouse and suddenly the monitor burst to life with a log fire screen saver. "Relax Sam. No one knows we're up here."

Weird. It was just a bunch of computer pixels with no real life to them, but Sam could swear his skin was heating from the artificial flames as they jumped and flickered.

After a few sips of beer he found himself relaxing and the two of them sank back into the cushions, talking in low voices. All Sonia talked about was Sonia, but Sam didn't mind because she was sweet, sexy and he loved the sound of her voice.

The beer went down so smoothly he barely noticed the lethargy creep up on him, and he really hadn't noticed how Sonia was edging closer to him until suddenly her lips were on his. He tensed up instantly, not knowing what to do and _fear _skittered along his nerve endings. _Fear_ that he'd screw this up and never be able to show his face again in public.

He could feel her smiling against his mouth. "You've never kissed a girl before have you?" There was no mockery in her voice, only interest and when he nodded shyly she breathed sweet hot breath in his ear, making him shudder with pleasure. "Relax. Let me show you…"

And show him she did. Sam blinked when she nibbled on his lower lip, felt her hands slide up around his neck, fingers playing with the soft curls at the base of his skull. Then she gently urged him forward, his arms coming up around her on instinct, Sonia teased his mouth open and caressed his tongue. The low moan of pleasure took him by surprise and he suddenly froze when he realised it came from him.

"That's it Sam." Sonia muttered soothingly into his mouth. "Now do the same to me."

And that really started the ball rolling. He was swept away with lust as his mouth came down on hers, and judging by the swift feminine gasp he'd taken her by surprise. Their tongues met, circling and massaging and he wondered why he'd never done this before. Sure it was messy and he knew his inexperience would count against him, but _oh god she tasted good!_

When she broke away abruptly his heart sank a little until she whispered in a husky voice that did strange but wonderful things to him "You sure you've never done this before?"

"Nuhuh." Was all he could manage. His jeans felt tighter and Sam wasn't so naïve he didn't know what _that_ meant. His life hadn't been totally sheltered and in any case his older brother was all too eager to recount the tales of his nightly conquests, leaving nothing to Sam's imagination. Then there was the issue of Seven of Nine from Star Trek Voyager, the teenage crush that helped him through the night where nothing or no one else could…

"..you wanna touch me? Here?"

_Huh?_ Sam's breath caught in his windpipe and he nearly choked on it. She'd grabbed his hand and was placing it over her left breast. _Holy shit! Oh holy crap on a stick! What would Dean do? __**What would Dean do?**_

Sam thought about that for only a nanosecond…_probably push her onto her back and bang her into next week_...and that really did nothing to help his pending panic attack, or the hard bulge desperately seeking freedom against his zipper.

Sonia seemed to take pity on him and leaned back slightly. "Why don't I get us some more beers huh? We both need to relax a little more."

Thinking he could use the time to compose himself a little, Sam readily agreed and heaved a sigh of relief when she slipped from the room. He let his head fall back against the bed.

_Wow. That was way too close._

But he just couldn't stop smiling.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was headed towards the kitchen, laughing at someone's good natured call of 'cheat.'

"Hey, if you aint gonna cheat fairly, don't cheat at all!" he called back, which earned him an empty beer can to the head. Chuckling he turned, intent on getting some more beers when he ran into Sonia.

"Well hey." Dean smiled appreciatively; so she was dating his little brother. Didn't mean he couldn't look. "Lookin' good sweetheart."

"Dean!" She squealed in delight and launched herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet. "I didn't know you were gonna be here tonight." She smiled, pulling her bottom lip between her lips for a second before delivering a sexy pout. "If I _had_ known I'd have ditched the King of Dork upstairs and stayed down here. Ya know he's never even kissed a girl before tonight? Wait 'til my friends hear about this. Still, I owed him something for helping me with my school project…."

Sonia prattled on, not noticing the way Dean's eyes hardened in the dim light, nor the way he clenched his fists in anger. But when he spoke he kept his voice light hearted, even interjecting a laugh or two.

"We all gotta start somewhere little darlin'. After all, you were hardly an expert back during our _garage days_." And though he carried on smiling, Sonia's face fell.

"What?!"

She was still gaping like a fish out of water when he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"_So, you havin' fun with my kid brother up there princess?"_

Just as she tensed up, Dean heard a sharp intake of breath over from the staircase.

Sam was staring at the two of them, eyes wide with hurt and betrayal.

"I…I just came lookin'…you were…thought something was wrong" Sam's voice was small and shaky. "_Oh God!"_

And Dean realised just how bad it looked right then. Sonia was still in his arms, his mouth hovering provocatively by her ear for all the world like he'd been whispering sweet nothings.

"Sammy…" Dean shoved the girl away from him and tried to reach out for his brother but it was too late. Sam turned, yanked open the front door and disappeared into the night as fast as his long legs could carry him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam kept on moving until he ran out of steam and collapsed on a park bench. He sat there in complete silence apart from the heavy panting as he slowly got his breath back.

Raising his head to gaze up at the stars through tearful eyes, he realised he'd never felt so humiliated in all his life and that was saying something. But that his _own brother…_

And that was the part that hurt the most. Sam pulled his knees up under his chin, buried his face in his hands and gave into the tears. He had no clue how long he was out there before getting up and heading home, but it must have been late because he'd never felt so cold.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"You're Sam's _brother?_ Wow!" Sonia shrugged without concern, as though Sam's heart was of little consequence to her. "Sam _Winchester?_"

"And I'll just bet that was gonna be the first question on your list right?" Dean sneered at her. "Right after thanking him for his help in getting you get a grade A on your _damn project!"_ He took no pleasure in her small flinch.

He tried to remind himself that this was a mere fifteen year old girl, a precocious girl sure, but a girl nonetheless. It was hard to believe that a nice guy like Derek could have such a complete bitch for a little sister. He glared at her.

"This _ever_ gets out, if you push Sam's humiliation any further than tonight," Dean kept his voice low and threatening, taking pleasure is seeing Sonia's eyes widen with fear, and something clicked in his mind. "and your brother will find out just what you've been up to; stealing his beers, inviting boys up to your room, getting drunk. How 'bout I ask around and see who else you and your little gang of school girls have screwed over recently? Your brother tells me your grades have _really_ been improving lately."

Sonia blinked in shock. "How did you know about all that? It was just us girls!"

Dean smirked without humour. "I didn't 'til just now."

Casting one last look of contempt at the girl, Dean took off into the night, desperate to find his little brother. He had to make it up to him, to explain. The poor kid was bound to be even more devastated when he found out he'd been used and why, but he needed to know. Dean needed to apologise for all the fuck ups he'd made on the run up to this night, including Sonia, the beer – _shoulda put a stop to it when I saw them sneaking it upstairs_ – and most of all, the compromising position Sam had caught his so called big brother in with his so called girlfriend.

So far the night just sucked balls.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam made it back to their apartment it was with some considerable relief that their father still wasn't home. He'd had time to think, time to let the hurt build into something far more powerful.

Anger. He felt absolute and total anger towards his brother.

Sam paced the grungy living room in front of the large bay window, pausing to study a small crack in the corner of the glass with a sneer. Just last week they'd been kicking a ball around, laughing and joking too hard to pay any real attention to what they were doing. Dean kicked the ball with a little too much enthusiasm and it bounced up against the window. The boys had frozen, unable to believe the fragile old glass didn't completely disintegrate altogether, then congratulated each other for dodging the bullet as it were.

Dad would never need to know how close they came to losing the security deposit on this shithole. And Sam was pretty sure he was never going near his back stabbing bastard of a brother again...

"Sammy?"

Sam looked up, face set in a mocking scowl. Dean was standing in the doorway to the living room, arms to his sides, body held in the classic non-threatening posture. But it wasn't going to work. Sam, nostrils flared and muscles tense, stormed over and gave Dean a hard shove, sending him stumbling back a few feet.

"You selfish bastard!" And it suddenly bothered him that Dean didn't seem at all surprised at his outburst. "What? You screwed your way through all the girls your own age and now you had to start in on mine? Bored of your little harem? Or was it that you couldn't bear to _actually see me happy_?!"

Dean felt utter sadness and remorse well up inside him. His little brother was hurting and it was all his fault; the least he could do was let Sam vent his rage.

"I know you're angry and upset, and you have every right to be," Dean tried to explain. "But there's some things you should know…"

"No! Maybe there's some things _you_ should know!" Sam poked a long finger at Dean's chest hard enough to leave a bruise. "Like…how Sonia _liked_ me, was really _talking_ to me. She…_kisse_d me, let me kiss her…I'd never…"

Sam broke off, tears running down his face, but they didn't disguise his blatant anger.

Dean came to a decision and moved into the room, taking off his jacket as he went. There was only one language his little brother would understand right now.

"Come on. Let's settle this." He rolled up his sleeves and tried not to wince at the look of angry interest on his little brother's face. "You can take first swing, I owe you that much."

May be a good workout would help bring Sam down a little and they could talk properly. But no sooner had the words left his mouth than the first fist came flying out of nowhere. Dean shook his head and wiped the blood off his lip, nodding his approval as though Sam were a student and he the teacher.

"Good. Now, let's see what you can do…" he spun and suddenly he was behind his brother, Sam's arm twisted up his back, "…to get out of this."

Sam answered by stomping down on Dean's instep, smiling in grim satisfaction at the small grunt of pain, and taking advantage of the loosened grip on his arm. He whirled round but Dean dodged back out of reach, and the brothers began to circle each other warily.

"That girl was using you. I only found out tonight."

Sam smirked. "Yeah, using me to get to _you._"

"She didn't even know we were brothers Sam, I swear…"

"Oh you _swear_, huh?" In spite of his anger Sam couldn't help the misery in his voice, and he knew Dean had noted it. "_You_ knew Dean. You knew who she was, who she was _with_ and _you still didn't care._"

Dean sighed and stood up straight. "That's what I'm tryin' to tell you kiddo, she wasn't with you. Not really." And it left him totally unprepared for Sam's next attack.

His cheek stung like hell but it geared him up for the next one and he grabbed Sam's wrist, twisting until Sam was on his knees, unable to hit out.

"Look, just stop ok? Let's talk about this."

"Not in the mood for talking Dean." And with a show of strength that surprised even Sam, he ducked into Dean's hold and spun out, the new blow finding its mark with stunning power and accuracy. Dean doubled over gasping from the vicious kick to the stomach; he was well and truly winded, and angry.

Suddenly Dean wasn't playing around anymore. His little brother wasn't pulling his punches and Dean's temper was aroused at the injustice. Not even the drying tears on Sam's face would put him off now.

"Alright. You wanna fight Sammy, you _got it_." he growled.

There was no hesitating, no circling, and no baiting.

Sam struck first and after that anybody watching would have had trouble following the fight. But a listener might have winced at the volley of flesh on flesh blows, the grunts of pain and exertion that came with them.

Dean managed to break them apart again for a second.

"What's the matter Sammy?" Dean taunted angrily. "Am I too much for ya? Or maybe you're just jealous 'cos you can't hold on to _your_ woman." It was a cruel thing to say and Dean regretted it the minute the words left his big mouth.

Sam's temper snapped beyond control. Dean could see the instant change, anticipated what was coming and was already moving when Sam charged.

Dean neatly sidestepped and turned to watch with grim smugness when Sam surged forward unable to stop once he'd picked up momentum. But the smugness soon turned to horror when he realised where Sam was heading, and his kid brother crashed face first through the bay window.

Shock glued his feet to the carpet for a long moment, not quite believing what just happened. But there was no sound of movement on the other side of the window and that was a _bad fucking sign!_

"Sammy!" Dean scrambled over to the window, used his sleeve to hurriedly brush away the remaining broken glass and climbed over the ledge. "Sam? You ok?"

He crouched down beside his brother, using the light from the living room to guide him. Sam still wasn't moving. Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket, placed it on the ground next to his brother, covering the broken glass, then rolled Sam onto his back.

"Oh Jesus!"

Sam's eyes were wide open in disbelief as he choked on his own blood, and there was blood _everywhere_; it spilled over Sam's lips, completely covering his neck and saturating his shirt.

But lower down, protruding from Sam's chest was the horrifying sight of a large shard of glass that appeared to move and shake with every breath that Sam struggled to take. Dean grabbed Sam's hand up in his before his little brother could try to pull it out.

"Sammy just hold on, ok? I'm gonna call 911 but you have to stay awake for me." Dean gazed down at him as Sam tried to talk. "No, don't move. Just stay still little bro, and don't touch it!"

When Dean tried to release his hand, Sam wouldn't let him go. "Sam, I need to call for _help! _You're hurt bad kiddo, you're losing too much blood." He could no longer hold in his despair when Sam still refused to let go. "_Sam please!_ You have to let me help you! _Sammy_!"

Sam opened his mouth and Dean heard _something_ come out. He leaned in close and whispered to him.

"Ok Sam, I'm listening. But make it quick."

Sam choked and coughed before finally getting the words out.

"_S….sssorry….h…hurt yyyyou._" Dean just watched in confusion as Sam reached out a shaky hand and gently touched Dean's split lip. There was no anger left in Sam's eyes, just pain and weariness. "_Yyyyou bbbbeetter forrrr herrr thannnnn.......me."_

Dean couldn't handle that right now and wrenched his hand from Sam's, "I'll be right back I promise just hold on!"

If Dean could pinpoint the exact moment in his life when he learned to multitask, this might have been it. He grabbed up the cordless phone, dialling 911 as he raced into the bedroom and ripped a blanket off one of the beds, talking to the emergency services and answering rapid fire questions, threw open the front door, found a damp washcloth, then climbing back over the windowsill and wrapping his brother in the blanket, moving him as little as possible. He finally reeled off the address, and with an assurance the ambulance would be there in five minutes he hung up.

"_Ddddeeaaaann…h…holdin on…like you asked…" _Sam was terrified and trying not to show it, but he couldn't fool his big brother with that weak smile.

"I know Sammy; you're doing a great job. Just a little longer ok?"

Dean longed to pull the kid into arms but he didn't dare, not with that vicious piece of glass sticking out from his brother's body. He'd bundled some of the blanket round the wound to soak up the blood, though he wasn't in all honesty sure what good it would do. He couldn't press on the wound to stop the blood and he couldn't pull the glass out in case it caused worse injury and more blood loss. He gazed at Sam in despair. All he could do now was comfort his little brother until help arrived and he prayed like hell it wouldn't be long.

"Sam, you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, right?" Dean dabbed at the blood drying on Sam's chin, though it was soon replaced by fresh as his brother tried his best to keep breathing. "I _swear_ what you saw tonight…it wasn't what you thought."

Sam gazed up at him sorrowfully and tried to speak again, but breathing was hard enough a task and he slumped in on himself.

_Oh God, he's giving up. This is all my fault._

A scuffling from inside the house made him look up. "Sammy the cavalry's arrived kiddo, helps here." He waved the EMT's through the gap in the broken window before turning his anguished gaze back on Sam, noting his terrible pallor made all the more prominent by the blood . "Hold on, _please_ just hold on."

Sam gripped his hand but with noticeably less strength than a few minutes before. Dean placed a firm and desperate kiss on Sam's own blood covered fingers then pressed the back of his brother's hand against his cheek. "I'm gonna have to step back, but I won't be far away Sammy I promise. Keep fighting, don't you _dare _give up!"

Sam's scared gaze followed his brother's movements as the EMTs closed in around him. A strong yet gentle hand grasped Sam's jaw and a collar was secured round his neck. Voices chattered on around him but he could only make out the odd word or phrase; nothing made any sense to his muddled brain.

"BP's dropping..."

"...his name?"

"Sam...." _Dean's voice....he's still here..._

"...massive blood loss..."

"...sats are dangerously low..."

A plastic mask was fastened over his face, and Sam's eyes darted about nervously; one small jab in his arm and now at least the pain was fading. He wasn't sure what was going on but he seemed to be covered in tubes and wires and for a moment he thought some weird monster from one of Dean's favourite science fiction films was trying to eat him.

Sam's eyes felt heavy, his body a sluggish and immovable object. The world seemed quieter and more peaceful somehow; Sam knew he was on the edge of something, and he wanted to find out what. The incessant beeping from one of the strange machines suddenly became a steady whine, and the EMTs moved about with hurried silent urgency. Sam couldn't hear what they were saying, could barely see anything through the growing darkness but he did catch sight of his brother leaning over the EMTs his mouth wide open, shouting something, face lit up with horror.

Sam eyes slid closed as he fell over the edge.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"No you don't! Sam you little bastard don't you _dare!_" Dean yelled over the heads of the medics. His brother was crashing right in front of him and in spite of the well intentioned words of comfort from one of the guys this was most definitely _not_ al-fucking-right!

"Sam!"

He was soon drowned out by the EMTs as they fought to keep Sam alive, packages opened, more IVs started and finally the defibrillator was prepared. The paddles hummed with the high voltage electrical charge, and then Sam's body was bucking upwards, twitching violently.

"Charge 250..."

"....clear!"

Dean flinched when they shocked his brother again. He couldn't believe this was happening; what had started out as a fun evening very quickly turned into a nightmare of Stephen King proportions because now Sam was badly injured and fighting for his life.

Dean _hoped_ Sam was fighting for his life. But maybe he wasn't, maybe Sam had convinced himself it wasn't worth fighting for. The poor kid's self-esteem was at an all time low and then he'd seemingly been betrayed by his best friend and older brother. Placing those facts side by side didn't exactly paint a pretty picture.

"...back and we're ready to take him to the ER now, sir. Sir? You ok?"

"Huh?" Dean shook himself, "What?" He glanced with relief at the portable monitor; apparently Sam's heart was beating again.

"We got him back, but we have to leave _now_!" The EMT offered a grim smile of apology for his sharp tone but said no more, just helped the other medic lift the stretcher over the windowsill.

Dean blinked. _When did they strap Sam into that thing? _He must have been so far off base, berating and kicking himself over the night's events that he hadn't even noticed when Sam was brought back. _The kid was right. I am a self bastard!_

He followed the medics through the room and out to the waiting ambulance, it's flashing red lights having drawn quite a crowd of onlookers, who gasped when they saw the young boy on the stretcher unconscious and covered in blood. Dean's fists clenched in anger at their morbid curiosity but turned his face away, kept his gaze fastened on Sam; the last thing he needed was to be arrested for beating the shit out of half the residents of the street.

Without waiting to be asked Dean clambered up in to the rear of the ambulance and prepared himself for a long night.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dad? You need to come home. It's Sam..." he found it hard to carry on, but his father was bound to insist.

He heard John sighed. _"Ok, but just tell me."_

So Dean launched into an explanation of the whole sordid affair and finished on a right royal guilt trip, which John soon put pay to.

"_Son, ok you shoulda told him but there was no way you coulda known what the little bitch was up to. Let's just make sure Sammy's ok before we start pointing the finger. Right? Dean? You ok kid?"_

Dean swallowed hard as he fought the panic, realised his father was right and nodded to himself. "Yeah, just...a little..." he trailed off not knowing what else to say.

"_Yeah I know. Just look after yaself for a bit, let the doctors and nurses take care of Sam." _John paused as if waiting for Dean's agreement. _"I'm handing this hunt over to Caleb. He's already agreed to call in Bobby if it gets bad again, so I'm heading out now, son. Be there in a couple days."_

Dean hung his head in relief. "Yeah, that's great. Thanks Dad."

He hung up and headed back to Sam's room, where both brothers had been pretty much living since the accident. And the cops _now_ believed it was indeed an accident, though Dean still felt angry at the initial treatment; they accused him of _deliberately_ pushing Sam through the window, which he hotly denied and threatened the officers with violence in his very own typical _Dean way_. After having his face mashed into the interview desk, he was ready to talk about the events leading up to Sam's horrendous injuries.

He'd had to name _names._ He'd had to talk about Sam's humiliation and subsequent flight from the party, how Sam, an innocent teen had been duped with apparent betrayal to the point of desperation and Dean had offered him a traditional _gentlemen's_ settlement, a chance to kick the living crap out of his older brother. He also described how his temper flared, the fight kicking off and two of them going at it hammer and tongs. One of the cops actually started nodding in sympathy – _that's brothers for ya _he actually uttered. Then Dean recounted in exact detail how Sam wound up with a sixth inch wide shard of glass in his chest that was even at that point being carefully removed.

They let him go back to Sam, but with a cop present to make sure he didn't try anything. Whilst they were now sympathetic no chances were being taken, but word soon filtered through that Sonia and, regretfully, her brother Derek Castle had been interviewed and although no one told Dean what was said, it appeared he was in the clear for now, until Sam woke up.

And now Dean was waiting at Sam's bed side for him to wake up.

He was _desperate_ for Sam to wake up.

And not to clear Dean's name, that was pretty much a given anyhow.

Dean felt miserable with just the thought of his brother still hating him. Maybe at first, Sam would welcome his presence, actually _want_ him there, but once the memories came flooding back...Dean worried like hell about it. He slid his shaky hand through Sam's hair, studying his still pale face and dreading the moment when Sam finally woke up and told him to go fuck himself.

Sam's surgery had been difficult to say the least, though Dean had trouble following what he was being told. The glass had severed Sam's left lung, nicked his oesophagus, and everyone was amazed he'd come through it. Dean had been shocked at the damage, his attention taken only by the chest wound, but apparently Sam's arms were cut up pretty badly.

Dean finally fell into an uneasy sleep, head resting on Sam's hand, gripped tightly in his own.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"_Dean..."_

A grunt, followed closely by a snuffling into the mattress and Sam managed a smile. One of the things that always amazed Sam about his big brother was his ability to sleep anywhere. He could swear Dean would easily sleep on a washing line with a knot for a pillow.

"Dean." Voice a bit stronger now but Dean was still dead to the world. It gave Sam some time to take things in. He glanced down at his chest, a mass of white gauze and bandages.

_Huh?_

And there were his arms, also bandaged up...

_What?_

Panic had him calling his brother's name louder, until he resorted to shaking the arm Dean had latched on to. But that caused untold pain and Sam cried out, tears pooling in his eyes. Dean spluttered awake and jumped up in his seat, searching for danger, head swivelling from side to side like an angry guard dog, eyes narrowed.

"_Dean?"_

Worried green eyes, pinched with fatigued settled on his. "Sam. Good to hear ya voice kiddo."

Sam was already wiped out by the small exchanged but valiantly tried to stay awake. "Whasgoinon?" And he felt confused at the tortured look on his big brother's face.

_Got myself into some shit and he's bailed me out again I guess._

But Dean just smiled sadly. "We'll talk about this later, 'cos I owe you one hell of an apology buddy."

Sam blinked at him slowly, "_what?"_

Dean brushed his hand affectionately over Sam's forehead. "Like I said. Later. Dad's on his way, be here in a few days."

Sam was confused but fatigue was the greater victor because he didn't even finish his sentence.

"Whyyyy's Daaad cominnnn back so soooooon and whaaaa hap...." and he was out like a light.

Dean took a shaky breath of remorse. "Sleep Sammy. Just sleep."

He settled back in his seat and _really fucking wanted to die about now._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam wanted to scrub away at his eyes because everything was blurred, and what he _could_ see was two dark shapes leaning over him. It scared the shit out of him.

"_Wha..._" His voice was so weak it scared him even more. His chest and arms hurt like hell if he so much as twitched and as the shapes above slowly came into focus it didn't help that they revealed themselves as his father and brother. And both looked angry.

_Oh shit. What have I done now?_

"_Uh...._"

"Shhh, easy there son. Just calm down." His dad smiled tightly, which really didn't help Sam's composure at all. John was back and looking really mad.

"_WhatdidIdo...?_" A memory of a broken window made him tense up. "_I'msorry 'bout thewindow...I'll payforit....promise..."_

Dean instantly sat down and drew his chair closer.

"You remember the window?"

Sam thought about that, or at least tried. His head felt like it was on a roller coaster and nothing made sense.

"_Not sure...tired._" Sam fought back tears as he glanced at his father. "_M'sorry. Please don'tbemad....notDean'sfault...."_

The smile on John's face instantly relaxed when he realised Sam was freaking out. "Hey son, you've nothing to be sorry for ok? Dean told me everything. Just relax and get some sleep." As though he sensed Sam's need to hear it he added "_you_ aint in trouble boy."

But it wasn't enough. "_Deanneither...nothis fault..._" Sam had no idea why he was being so insistent about it, but something told him it was right. Something told him he was missing a vital piece of information.

A gentle touch to his hand had Sam turning his head to find Dean gazing at him remorsefully.

"It actually kinda was little bro." He said gently. "I shoulda been straight with ya right from the start." Sam was startled and upset to see tears glimmering in his big brother's eyes, but that _something_ was knocking on the door of his brain, demanding entry. He didn't even try to stop it and pretty soon it all came flooding back.

Dean seemed to realise the moment it happened because he smiled sadly.

"Yeah. I fucked up big time."

In spite of all the hurt and pain, Sam stayed silent as he thought deeply. He could now rationalise all that happened, his emotions under control, his anger in check if not dissolved. Sam nodded slowly and to his relief his voice came out stronger.

"S'not all your fault Dean. I shoulda listened to your side of it." He offered up a matching sad smile. "I'm ready to listen now...if you want to talk."

John reached out, his hand paused above Sam's bandaged arm but thought better of it and place it on the side of Sam's neck instead, giving a gentle squeeze. "I'll leave you two to talk. See ya later son."

And tactfully left the room.

The brothers remained silent for a long moment until Sam tentatively spoke up.

"So, I guess I'm not gonna like hearing this huh?" He glanced at Dean, trying to smile and failing. "Just how much of a dumb bastard did she take me for?"

Dean sighed. "Sammy, don't be so hard on yourself..."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John felt much better after a long conversation with Sam's doctor. The kid was recovering well and though there was likely to be some scarring it would no doubt fade with time. He was just glad the boys were talking. Dean needed his little brother's forgiveness but Sam needed something in return. He'd taken a hard knock, and not one that he'd easily bounce back from, not without help. John wasn't totally out of touch with his youngest son's emotions and he could still remember his own difficult teenage years. They'd been one long ride of conflict, self-doubt and embarrassment, and Sam appeared to be taking after his old man. The boy was so unsure of himself, a walking bundle of nervous energy that did his level best to hide away from his peers, and to have suffered such cruel humiliation at the hands of that...that..._girl_....just seemed so unfair. The kid hadn't asked for that, to be extended the hand of friendship only to have the rug pulled out so fast it made his head spin.

To say that Sam was a good looking kid was an absolute understatement. In fact he was just as good looking as his older brother but he still had that baby face, that lost little boy look about him that never failed to earn him a pinched cheek or ruffled hair from some mother figure. He'd grow out of it eventually but those puppy dog eyes would always serve him well.

"Mr Winchester?" John turned abruptly to face a guy around the same age as Dean, tall with dark hair and startling blue eyes. He held out a hand as he introduced himself. "I'm Derek Castle. On behalf of my sister, I owe you and your family an apology."

Genuine concern and regret sparkled in his eyes; the whites slightly blood shot as though he'd been crying. John stared at the kid without making a move to shake his hand. So it was this guy's sister that did the damage; what did he expect? To kiss and make up? But that didn't seem to be the case at all. After sweeping his gaze over the boy John slowly nodded and grasped his hand.

"Ok. I'm listening."

Derek nodded, appeared to relax a little then sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.

"I just want you to know that when our parents get home Sonia will tell them _everything_. Apparently she and her little group of friends have been doing this for a while now, effectively prostituting themselves for private tutoring from some of the brighter students. The boys always kept their mouths shut to avoid embarrassment but any time one of them stepped out of line and threatened to report them, the girls would blackmail them with rumours and gossip, stuff that would emotionally cripple the poor kids in front of their friends." Derek shrugged. "My sister had already been told she would be kept down a year if her grades didn't improve. So she _persuaded_ young guys like Sam to do her assignments; apparently once she was finished with Sam she was gonna move on to one of his friends for help with a history project." He glanced over at John. "I swear I knew nothing about this until the cops called round. I couldn't believe it when they told me how Sam got hurt fighting his brother and that Sonia had been involved. I wasn't even sure who Sam was until they mentioned that Dean Winchester was his brother. And that's when it all came out. I'm so very sorry. I really wish I could turn the clock back."

The poor kid looked utterly devastated by his sister's behaviour and John began to feel sorry for him. He gave Derek's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I know son. It's not your fault."

Derek gave him a grim smile. "Thanks, you've no idea what that means to me."

John merely nodded, released the boy's shoulder and stood, intent on getting back to his sons.

"Mr Winchester? Could you please tell Dean that I'm sorry, and that I hope Sam recovers soon."

"You bet."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"It'll be ok Sam. That little bitch wouldn't dare try anything."

Sam didn't look convinced. "I don't know. I mean, what's to stop her from spreading stuff about me? Supposing she tells everyone that I came on strong and she weren't interested. I don't think I could live that down."

Dean leaned forward. "Look at me." He smiled when his brother turned an uncertain and worried gaze on him. "She won't. I've already seen to that. Now relax, there's no point worrying about it. You just concentrate on getting well again ok?"

"Dean..."

"I mean it!"

The boys were silent for a while until Dean spoke quietly. "Thanks Sammy."

"What for?"

A nervous scratch to the back of his head. "Forgiving me so easy. I don't deserve it."

"Who says? So you kissed her at another party months ago. Other than that, you didn't do anything wrong Dean, I just jumped to conclusions when I should have been listening to you. You tried to tell me." Sam smiled sadly. "It should be me asking _you_ for forgiveness."

Dean frowned. "What the hell for?"

Sam gazed at him, eyes suddenly bright and tearful. "For not trusting you." He whispered.

Dean dropped his head for a second. "I'm just glad you're ok." He muttered. "And there's nothing to forgive Sammy." Dean finally smiled back at him. "Now get some sleep. Doc says you can go home tomorrow but only if you promise to take it easy."

Sam gazed down at his heavily bandaged arms and chest. "Not like I got a choice here. I can barely move!" Dean didn't miss the small wince of pain when he shifted in his bed.

That deep frown was back on his big brother's face. "You in any pain?"

Sam smiled a little sheepishly. "A little."

A quick study of Sam's pale features soon revealed the lie and Dean shook his head in annoyance.

"You shoulda told me!" Dean pressed the call button just as their father appeared in the room.

"You ok Sam?" John barked out worriedly.

"Uhuh..."

"He's in pain." Dean interrupted, replying for him.

"Dean! I can answer for myself..."

"Not when you go hiding things from me."

"I wasn't hiding it..."

"Would you have owned up if I hadn't asked?"

"Uh..." Sam opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. He really didn't have an answer for that. John snorted in amusement; Dean in mother hen mode was bound to drive Sam crazy pretty quickly but given the extent of his injuries there was little he could do about it.

A little later and Sam was getting sleepy again, the newly administered pain meds having shouldered most of the burden, but he still managed to listen to the quiet conversation between John and Dean.

"Derek was here? Really?" Dean seemed surprised at that.

"Yeah, he came to apologise." John scratched his chin. "He felt pretty guilty about it all; said he knew nothing about what his kid sister was up to. I believe 'im."

His oldest son nodded slowly. "That makes sense. If he'd known Derek woulda put a stop to it. He's a decent guy."

"What's gonna happen to Sonia now?" Sam spoke up a little sluggishly. "She in trouble?"

"Oh I think so. A_ lot_ of trouble." John smiled softly. "But that's nothing for you to worry about kid." He got to his feet. "I'm gonna call Bobby, make sure everything's ok with the hunt. And you two?"

"Yes sir?" the boys replied in unison.

"Next time you wanna settle a dispute, just remember what the phrase 'let's take this outside' means?" John grinned, "and stay away from windows."

He ducked and the pillow missed his head by a narrow margin.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Steady, easy there...Sammy for God sake just let me handle it ok?"

"Not an invalid Dean." Sam muttered.

Dean stopped and raised an eyebrow. "You wanna rephrase that?"

Sam sighed heavily and let his brother help him from the car. He barely held in the wince when his chest protested at the sudden movement but kept on going, ignoring Dean's grumbles of 'stubborn little bitch' and 'shoulda accepted the damn wheelchair'.

They kept up the good natured bickering as Dean gently slipped an arm round Sam's back, holding him securely as they stepped towards the house. The bay window at the back of the rental had already been fixed, paid for by Derek Castle who also offered to cover all of Sam's hospital and recovery expenses. Dean had been in touch with the guy, graciously accepting his apologies without question. The parents had been called back early from their business trip and arrangements had been made for Sonia to be sent straight to an all girls boarding school. She wasn't allowed out of the house without supervision and right at that moment her parents and John Winchester were busy tracking down Sonia's little circle of friends to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

"Sam?"

The boys froze.

"Please...I need to talk to you."

Dean sensed Sam's indecision. "You don't have to talk to her ya know. Let me take you inside, get you comfortable and I'll come out and deal with her." Dean offered in a low voice right by Sam's ear.

Sam shook his head. "No. I should....just ....no. I'll talk to her." With Dean's assistance, Sam made the difficult turn to face Sonia Castle. "What do you want Sonia?" There was no anger, just weariness in his voice.

Sonia took a step toward him then seemed to think better of it when Dean tensed up angrily. "I just wanted to say....uh...." she looked like she hadn't slept properly in days, dark circles under her eyes and her clothes were a simple affair of scruffy old jeans and a plain black tee-shirt. She faltered once more before finally getting the words out. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. When I heard what happened, about the fight with your brother, you getting hurt...I....it's all my fault. I never meant for it to go that far. I never wanted _anyone_ to get hurt.

"Shoulda thought about that before huh?" Dean sneered until Sam shushed him up.

"Dean!" He turned back to Sonia. "My brother's gotta point."

Sonia finally gathered her courage to take another step closer. "I know! No one was really supposed to get hurt. Mostly I just went on a few dates, let the relationships die a natural death. The guys would have some fun and my grades would improve; everyone got something out of it."

Sam studied her for a second. "But it didn't always work out like that, right?" When she nodded he bit his lip thoughtfully. "I'm guessing some of the guys objected to being used like that, so you threatened them, used their own paranoia against them."

Sonia had the grace to hang her head in shame. "Yeah, it just got out of hand." she whispered. "I'm so sorry you got hurt. If there's anything I can do..."

"There's nothing my brother needs or wants from you!" Dean growled threateningly.

"Dean, can you give us a minute? Please? I promise I won't be long." Sam pleaded, just wanting a little privacy with the first girl he ever kissed.

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the only move Dean made was to sit Sam carefully down on the low wall surrounding the house, then with one last vicious glance in the girl's direction, climbed inside the Impala, slamming the door behind him.

Sam shrugged and winced. "That's as good as it gets."

"I can't stay long. I only managed to give my brother the slip by sheer luck." Sonia sat down beside him and chewed on an already ravaged fingernail. "When Dean and I made out, he was drunk. Not his fault. I _knew_ he was drunk but....I guess I had quite the crush on him. But that was a long time ago, and I didn't even know his full name. Didn't realise he was your brother and Derek never really talks about his friends. But Dean must be quite the good guy, 'cos he told Derek what happened. My brother was furious."

Sam nodded. "Dean _is_ a good guy, and so's your brother. He's just looking out for you. Doesn't wanna see you get hurt. And Sonia, you've been lucky so far. But if you'd picked on the wrong guy..." he let the sentence trail off as he watched realisation dawn on the girl's face.

"You're right. I never thought of that." She buried her face in her hands. "God I'm so messed up. What the hell was I thinking?"

In all honesty Sam felt pretty sorry for her right now. "Well, now you get to start afresh, in a brand new school where no one knows you. Use it wisely Sonia. Not many people get a second chance."

She looked up at him, sweeping her long hair back from her tear-stained face. "You're a nice guy too. And if it's any consolation, for your first kiss it was pretty amazing." And that, Sam could tell, was at least honest. Sonia got to her feet. "Thanks, for not yelling at me I mean. It's no more than I deserve."

"Take care of yourself Sonia. Stay out of trouble huh?" Sam smiled when she chuckled. "Oh and...uh...if you still need help with that science project, you know where I am." _For now._

Sonia nodded thoughtfully. "I guess I shoulda known that all along right? That all I had to do was just ask you?" She smiled sadly when he just nodded.

"Take it easy Sam. Let that over-protective big brother of yours look after you." She leaned in and gave Sam a soft kiss on the cheek, then with a small sad wave she turned her back and walked away.

Sam eased himself up onto his feet just as the car door opened.

"Sammy hold still." Sam just sighed and waited for Dean's arm to go round his waist again. "So? What the wicked little witch of the south have to say?"

"Dean go easy on her. She knows what she's done, and I really do think she feels bad about it. Besides, that fight wasn't really down to her."

"Know somethin' little bro? You are _way_ too forgiving when it comes to a pretty face."

Sam smirked. "Huh. Pot calling Dean here!"

"Watch it kid! You can't run _or_ hide glassboy!"

Sam laughed and winced all at once and Dean immediately slowed their pace. "Yeah, running is definitely out for me."

The boys slowly made their way into the house, the brotherly bickering resumed.

Sure he had a long way to go, but Sam was feeling better already.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

So that's the end of the second story. Hope it wasn't too confusing though I wonder if I over-complicated it a bit; it certainly felt like it was getting a bit much!

A quick note to a certain anonymous reviewer of the first story: I'm well aware that mobile phones were a rarity in 1989, but they did exist and people did use them. Given the Supernatural fandom in all its weird and wonderful glory, I'm somewhat surprised that anyone would be thrown by that anyhow. But duly noted and thanks for the review.

Kind regards,

.


	3. Endex

**I Didn't Mean It Story 3**

**Times when Dean unintentionally hurt his brother**

**Endex**

_Definition: Termination of Exercise._

_Summary: To teach his brother a lesson, Dean sets up an impromptu night exercise. But when Endex rolls around there's still no sign of Sam, and Dean wishes he'd taken the time to think things through more carefully._

_Warnings: It gets a little gory in places as I have completely gone beyond the boundaries of what's reasonable with the first aid. Also, well this __**is**__ me talking about so there's bound to be swearing…_

_**For Mollie **__**Clark, who asked for a broken bone. **_

_**(I even threw in a mention of a concussion for ya…see? Generous or what?)**_

_**Dean 19, Sam 15**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Y'alright kiddo?" Dean glanced over at his passenger very briefly before returning his gaze to the road.

"I'm fine."

Dean's mouth twisted into a humourless grin. Short, sullen answer, straight to the point, and complete bullshit. That was Sammy.

At least that was Sammy _these_ days, when he wasn't busy sulking in his room or yelling at their father, the latter of which was becoming more frequent. And it was the same old argument time and again, rarely changing, and Dean could swear he'd even memorised it. Trouble was, John could shout back a damn sight louder than Sam and often did, the result being a constant pilgrimage of neighbours to their door, complaining about the noise. Dean would merely shrug, apologise and offer up a charmingly boyish grin, or a sad smile, depending on who was doing the complaining. In fact he had a whole arsenal of grins, smiles and grimaces for each occasion.

As soon as the complainer had delivered the complaint to the complainant, then accepted the apology and left, Dean would close the door quietly, the grin sliding immediately off his face, and heave a frustrated sigh.

_Was it his fault the fucking walls were thin as paper?_

And really, it wasn't funny anymore. In the early says Dean often had to smother a snort or bite back a laugh at just the thought of his feisty younger brother taking on their strict and take-no-crap father, mainly because of the angry glares thrown his way by both parties, not to mention that it seemed to spur them on, exacerbating the fight.

Dean was never quite sure why that was, but now he either let them get on, or stepped in when things looked like getting out of hand.

He took another quick glance at his passenger. The evening sun was now catching the windshield causing Sam to squint in annoyance and he quickly raised his hand to protect his eyes, but not fast enough to prevent Dean finally seeing the glum expression on his face.

_So not sulking. Not angry. Just leaves one left on emoboy's list._

Dean swung the wheel over and the car cruised to a gentle halt at the side of the road.

Sam was clearly upset about something and Dean, as usual, was a real sucker when it came to upset little brothers.

"Talk to me bro." Dean asked quietly but affording Sam the dignity of not actually looking at him. The kid's head was turned away anyhow, facing out the passenger window, shoulders tense as though straining under the weight of the whole world. "What's wrong Sammy? Whatever it is, it won't go away on its own."

When the answer came it was without emotion, just the dull flat tones used by one who's given up.

"We're moving on again. Dad told me last night."

Dean bit his lip. _Oh boy. So Dad finally told him. And no fighting huh? Is that progress?_

It was true that they'd only been here three weeks but half that time had been taken up trying to get Sam into a local school. Even with a brain the size of a planet, Sam had only just been accepted by sheer luck. The main problem being it was a popular area with good, no _great_ schools, and hence families often had to fight to the death for a placement. The Winchesters had only managed to find accommodation because the guy asking for their help with a haunting of the nearby forest was rich enough to know the right people. Within hours of agreeing to help, strings were pulled, backs were scratched, and a temporary home awaited them. The school was another matter, and pretty low down on John Winchester's list of priorities, so Sam's educational needs had to wait. And the guy that asked for help was an old friend of a friend, so basically no arguments. Dean nearly laughed at that.

The haunting, however, was easy enough to deal with, and one salt and burn later, the Winchesters were ready to move on to their next gig. Dean did wince a little. The poor kid had only been in school five minutes and now he was being taken out again. Dean tried to talk to John, persuade him to let them stay a few more weeks, give Sam a break from the road, but his father was adamant there was no longer any need to hang around. The hunt was over, why wait when people lives were a risk elsewhere?

Dean had to reluctantly concede the point.

"Yeah I know, Sam. I'm sorry; didn't know we'd finish the job so soon." He reached out a fist, gently punching Sam on the upper arm, and with a chuckle he added "we're just too darn good huh?"

"S'not funny Dean!" Sam's head shot round, eyes sharp with anger, voice low and bitter. "It's the third move in two months, and I'm getting so _tired_ of it. I can't keep up with my homework, my studies are suffering, and I just can't sleep 'cos every time I get used to a new home, a new _bed_ it's time to move on and that selfish bastard can't even _see_ it. _Won't _see it!"

_Wow. Longest speech he's made in a while. Since he was like eleven I think…_

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You finished?" he tried to stay calm, but with the name calling the kid was going too far.

Sam shook his head, eyes downcast. "Wouldn't be any point in carrying on even if I weren't."

Dean frowned at the defeat in Sam's voice. "Look, I don't like it either…"

"Ha!" Sam's sudden cynical laugh echoed round the inside of the car. "You're such a liar. I _know_ how much you love this life and all his training and crap that comes with it, how you follow Dad around like an obedient Doberman, obeying orders like a good little solider..."

"_Doberman_ huh? I like that…"

"But I'm not like you and Dad!" Sam carried on, pretending he hadn't heard Dean's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm not cut out for this _life_."

"Then maybe it's about time you started trying." Dean's suddenly hard, cold voice cut through his little brother's complaints like a meat cleaver, sharp, unrelenting, and the damage ugly. Sam flinched in shock. "Whether you want to admit it or not, _this_ is our life, we aren't like other families, our purpose is different. And the sooner you start gettin' over yaself the happier we'll _all_ be." Dean took a deep breath. "'Cos I'm sick of it Sam. Sick of the fighting, the constant questions and the whining. This is what we do. Live with it."

Sam soon recovered and instantly fought back. "Yeah, well I won't have to much longer. As soon as I'm old enough I'm out. A couple years, ya hear me? 'Cos I'm sick too Dean. I wanna go to college, have a normal life…"

"You think _I_ didn't want those things Sam?" Dean suddenly roared, barely holding on to his temper. "Before Mom died? And if it weren't for Dad and me you'd have died right along with her. Dad's kept us both alive all this time with his _orders _and his _training_, and maybe it's about time you started acting a little more grateful! This isn't just about you!"

Sam sniffed and turned away. "You just don't get it." He whispered. "I can't keep on living like this. I have to get out…"

Dean snorted. "Yeah right. And who's gonna look out for you huh? Who's gonna watch your back?"

"I can take care of myself!" Sam shot back, his quickly anger returning, "After all that's what Dad _trained_ us for right?"

"You kiddin' me? No way you can look after yaself out there!" Dean sneered at him. "Who was it had to handle those school bullies for ya?"

Sam glared at him and spoke through gritted teeth. "That was _five_ _years ago Dean!_"

Dean glared back and nodded slowly. "Fine." Then swung the car back on the road.

Sam watched him with suspicion. His big brother had given in to the argument way too easy for his peace of mind, and felt sure there would be a comeback at some point. He wasn't quite prepared for just how soon that would be however, and as soon as they got back to the apartment Dean switched off the engine, and without even looking at him issued a direct order.

"Go get your back pack Sam."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?"

Dean's head turned towards him, in spite of the commanding voice, a reasonable expression on his face and one eyebrow rose. "You heard me. Backpack. Now. And don't forget to bring water."

"But…"

"You think you can look after yaself? Fine. Prove it!"

"Fine!" Sam slammed out the car and disappeared into the apartment. He didn't take long because both boys were trained to keep their packs fully stocked with a good first aid kit, sleeping bag and twenty four hour ration packs, which mainly consisted of dried food that could be reconstituted with water. Hot for preference, though under heavy fire cold would have to do. And always tasted like shit.

By the time he made it back Dean was leaning over the hood of the Impala, eyes quickly scanning a map, pencil in hand. Sam stood by with his pack slung sullenly over one shoulder, stubborn jaw set, eyes glinting ominously in the street lights.

"Well? What're we waiting for? Let's go."

Dean smirked. "Get in."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The drive seemed way too long with the angry silence hanging round the boys like a bad smell, but eventually the car slowed to a crawl and stopped in a heavily forested area. Sam switched on the over head light and took a good look at the map. Sure enough there was a forested section marked out in pencil by Dean's neat hand.

"So, you got three hours to get from here…" Dean leaned over, showing the starting point, "…to here." His finger moved across the forest and out into a small clearing where the map seemed to indicate a natural spring.

Sam quickly calculated in his head just how fast he would have to move in order to beat the three hours and fought back a gasp. It was miles, but he wasn't about to give up now. He had a point to prove and prove it he would, even if he had to sprint the whole damn way.

Sam shrugged. "_That's_ your challenge? An orienteering exercise?" He snorted in distain. "More like child's play!"

True enough. Dean knew from the map that the route was simple and straight forward, but no way could his little brother complete it in the time he'd allowed.

He grinned when Sam tested his flashlight and found the batteries flat.

"You sure 'bout this Sam? All alone out there in the dark?" In spite of the smug tone, a part of Dean felt proud as hell of his kid brother when Sam stiffened his spine and nodded. There was nothing out there that could harm Sam, nothing supernatural at any rate; Dean knew that for a fact, otherwise there was no way he would have even suggested it in the first place.

Unfortunately, another much larger part of Dean was silently begging Sam to just admit defeat and call it off. Dean wasn't ready for his little brother to grow up just yet, but Sam was determined.

The younger boy got out the car and swung his pack up onto both shoulders this time, fastening the straps with ease.

"And no following me!" He called back.

Dean raised his hands. "Don't know what ya talkin' about." _Damn kid knows me too well._ "I got business at the local bar, goes by the name of Cheryl. Plus Dad's there tonight and he's dyin' to let me beat him at poker." He grinned.

Sam didn't look convinced and Dean's heart sank a little. The kid would be on the watch for him now; no way Dean could keep an eye on him, make sure he was safe. But the truth was Sam's map reading skills were second to none; if anyone could make it to the rendezvous point in the allotted time it would be him. Even in the dark. Hell, the kid probably had that map memorised already. Maybe it was time for Dean to show a little more faith.

Just as Sam made to slam the car door, Dean called out to him.

"Hey Sammy?"

"What?" Sam's face was expressionless as he leaned in and peered at his brother.

Dean stared right at him. "Be careful out there ok? Stay safe."

Sam seemed to realise he was serious and nodded grudgingly, then shut the car door with a little less force than before.

Sam headed out into the night, unaware of the anxious eyes of his big brother that continued to watch even when he was long out of sight.

Dean sighed with frustration and slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel. He felt rotten, he felt like shit, he felt like the lowest snake in the grass for what he'd done to his brother tonight. To win a pointless argument he'd set Sam up for a guaranteed failure, and what was worse the kid was easily smart enough to know it. Intelligent enough to realise that his own brother had set him up to take a fall, and yet accepted the challenge anyhow. Probably to prove his own point at what a lousy, crappy, pathetic excuse for a big brother Dean really was.

And if Dean called him back now, or if Sam spotted a tail, he'd never forgive him.

The best thing he could do was get to the rendezvous point and wait for what would likely turn out to be a very exhausted little brother. Dean would confess, apologise, and maybe everything would be ok.

He switched on the engine and guided the car smoothly back onto the road. According to the map the route took a wide detour round this particular stretch of forest then came out at the natural spring. It was a nice easy drive and Dean noticed with relief that although the night was chilly there was no threat of rain. That took some of the guilt away, but not much.

Parking up and getting out from behind the wheel, Dean started pacing. Guilt ate at him though he tried to justify his actions by recalling the fight. But no matter which way he looked at it, what he'd done was sneaky and unforgivable.

What was worse, he'd already missed something on the ride over but it would be some hours before that came to light.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

As soon as he was out of sight Sam broke into a run then a full on sprint. He didn't have a flashlight but he had the map in his head; he was sure footed with good night vision, and easily as fit as his brother. In fact with Sam's long legs he figured he could make good time since the way through the forest was easier than he'd expected. From what he'd seen of the map there was some scrubland nearby which should have slowed him down, but maybe he'd got lucky. Maybe he wouldn't beat the time but he'd give it a damn good try!

He soon realised that his luck had run out when he made his way round a dense patch of pines and the ground suddenly disappeared underfoot. Gasping in shock he fell and tumbled for what felt like an eternity, sharp rocks digging in painfully, dirt sliding under him as he desperately scrabbled about, trying to find something to stop his descent.

A sudden snap and a sharp pain in his left thigh had him screaming in agony and he mercifully passed out. The unconscious boy rolled over an outcrop, over the edge and came to an abrupt halt, head smashing into the rocky surface.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean checked his watch again. Ok, the three hours were up and no sign of his brother. He'd expected that. Not a problem.

He spent some more time pacing the area and wishing like hell he'd thought this through properly, maybe waited until morning or until he'd at least performed his own walk through of the route before pitting his kid brother against it.

But that was the whole point right? Sam wanted to prove he could take care of himself when faced with bad odds or the unknown.

And there was still some time to go before there was any need to panic. Right?

So why was there a cold pit forming in his stomach?

He took out his cell phone and swore loudly. No signal.

Of _course_ there wouldn't be out here. There was no way for Dean to contact Sam and make sure he was ok, and conversely if Sam did run into trouble he wouldn't be able to call for help.

That pit grew colder, deeper, and wider until he couldn't take it anymore. ..

...another glance at his watch revealed to his disbelief that two more hours had passed.

_I thought time only flew when you were having fun!_

No way should Sam have taken this long. Dean didn't want to leave and go get help; it would take too long if his little brother was lying out there somewhere injured and alone. He needed to find him _now_.

He strode over to the car and opened the trunk, had a good rummage round and grabbed what he needed. Blankets, heavy duty first aid kit and, to his already horrendous guilt, a small but powerful flashlight.

_Damnit!_ He hung his head in despair. _Why the hell didn't I remember that?_

_Sammy I'm so sorry._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam wondered what the hell was digging into his back, but more importantly why there appeared to be a tambourine playing in his head and someone was using his left leg as a set of bongos. He was pretty sure he hadn't gone to bed like this, so what had happened to him?

And why was he finding it so hard to open his eyes? They felt like lead as did most of his body and why was it so damn cold? Finally, he persuaded his eyes to open up and join the world, and he slowly rolled his head to take in his surroundings, wincing in pain as he did so.

Huffing out a breath he tried to move and that turned out to be one big mistake. His body protested harshly but mostly his left leg, the percussion instrument from hell, really picked up the beat. The accompanying scream of pain seemed way too familiar for Sam's liking and it was to be the trigger for all memories of the last few hours to come flooding back.

The fight with Dean, the issued challenge – _which Sam was pretty sure he was meant to fail_ – the fast paced journey through the trees…and a big black ominous hole. And the thing about big black ominous holes, Sam decided, was that they were…_ominous._ They appeared out of nowhere ready to trip the unsuspecting traveller usually with the intent to kill and…

…_and I don't feel so good which would explain the crazy thoughts. Need to get up, get moving, get outta here._

It wasn't going to happen. His thigh was throbbing angrily and when he reached down to check it his hand encountered an alarming liquid warmth; what was worse his fingers brushed over something hard and sharp causing him to scream again.

Panting, head pounding like a runaway freight train, Sam tried so hard to bring his muddled thoughts back into some semblance of order.

_Open fracture. Shit. Stop the bleeding._

Sam reached down and unbuckled his belt, tearing it from the belt loops. He was lucky in the sense that the backpack was holding him up like a pillow, though no pillow was probably ever as uncomfortable as this. But it still beat the cold rocky ground any day.

Shivering slightly, hands shaking, Sam wrapped the belt round his upper thigh, just above the open wound and pulled tight. Gasping and blinking hard from the pain, he tried to stay conscious but black dots were competing for space in front of him.

_Stay awake. Need to treat and wrap the wound. Prevent infection. Stay awake._

The mantra from years of first aid training kept him from passing out again, though he wasn't sure how good his skills would be given his present state. But he had to try.

And at the moment he really had nothing better to do.

He began the lengthy process of struggling out of his backpack, wincing and whimpering in agony at the movement.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean managed to rig up a makeshift pack of his own using the blankets and some parachute cord. As he quickly prepared for the potential rescue mission Dean periodically checked his phone for a cell signal, but it was a waste of time. He continually cursed himself for not remembering that little fact from the hunt, their very reason for coming here in the first place, though that particular section of forest was a few miles over. Dean was really starting to wish he'd picked that area since it was familiar turf, but then he _again _found himself wishing he hadn't started this _at all_....and the cycle of guilt continued.

Setting out from the spring and following what he hoped was the direction Sam should have been coming from, Dean swept the area with the flashlight, keeping a sharp eye out for his little brother.

_Hold on Sammy. Please be ok._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam groaned as he hauled himself up, using a nearby tree for support but not daring to put any weight on his injured leg. His head swam like a bitch at the change in height and he nearly blacked out from the sharp spike of pain running through his skull.

It had taken him far longer than he thought necessary to clean, set, splint and wrap his leg, partly because he lost consciousness after each step of the procedure, usually after another ferocious howl of pain. But now he was awake – _barely _– upright –_ not sure for how long_ – and all he needed now was some kind of cane to lean on. There was no way he was staying here like a damsel in distress waiting for his smug brother to come rescue him; Sam didn't care if he had to crawl on his hands and knees to the rendezvous point but get there he would.

If he could just stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sam!" Dean kept calling out, hoping his brother would hear him and trying real hard not to consider the reasons why Sam might not be able to. "Sammy? You out here? Sam!"

He'd weaved a tight zigzag on route bearing in mind that he could easily miss his brother by just a few feet out here and never know it…and that brought him back to those damn reasons again.

The flashlight swept over the terrain revealing the tree line a little earlier than Dean expected. From the map there should have been scrubland about here where the overheard canopy wasn't so dense, but there was no sign of it.

_Flat grassland? Like a meadow?_

Something was wrong, and Dean quickly realised what it was. He'd sent Sam out from _wrong fucking starting point._ In his anger and rush to prove Sam wrong not only had he sent him out on a fruitless task, but he hadn't taken the time to study the map properly and could have gotten him lost.

_So to recap, Sam might be lying out there injured, alone and lost, all because I was __**so**__ concerned with the kid's safety._

_It's me the poor little shit needs protection from!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_Ok. Found something to lean on. Ditched the backpack. Shit. Dizzy._

Sam tried a few sips of water but it didn't help, neither did the spare sweatshirt he pulled from the backpack to stave off the steadily growing cold. He briefly considered unpacking the sleeping bag but discounted that; he had enough trouble staying on his feet –_foot_ – as it was, without wrapping that thing round him. Last thing he needed was to trip over it and break his other damn leg, which judging by the way the night was going, wasn't entirely beyond the realms of Sam's luck.

But he _had_ been lucky, if he could really call it that, in finding the strong piece of wood to act as a crutch. It fit snugly under his arm pit, holding him up so he didn't have to bend or hunch over.

He took one last look upward and wished he hadn't. It was a scary height to fall from and he could barely see the top in the darkness. He was ever more convinced his backpack had saved him from worse injury. Like a broken back, or ya know, _death?_

Now he just had to figure out which way to go from here.

From what Sam could gather this hadn't been here all that long, a few years at most judging by how loose the earth had felt on his way down, and the fact that only minor flora seemed to have taken root here; there were no trees, at least not the big pines he'd left behind in the world above him, just saplings. It was probably a landslide or earthquake that gouged out this deep crack in the earth, but at least it seemed shallow on the other side, a slow gentle rise upwards and the trees started again around halfway, which Sam fervently hoped would put him back on track.

Taking a long, deep breath Sam moved out slowly, limping and shuffling awkwardly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean carried on as best he could now he'd pretty much yelled his box voice into submission and _now_ wished he'd gone for help because now they could _both_ end up lost out here. Lost and separated. Bad news.

He tried to hold back rather than pick up speed, knowing he couldn't afford to miss any signs or clues. The flashlight seemed to deepen the shadows as Dean moved into the trees, sweeping the beam round him evenly. The ground began to slope downwards until after maybe fifteen minutes passed and Dean broke free of the trees again on to what looked like a large ditch with a steep wall and over hang on the other side

_That wasn't on the friggin' map!_

Fear took him in its clammy grip; if Sam had been moving fast to try and beat the allotted time - _without a flashlight damnit_ – he might not have seen it. From where Dean was standing the trees high on the other side appeared to cut off abruptly right by the drop and anyone running in the dark…

_Oh God._

He felt sick to his stomach and desperation helped him find his voice again, but this time with an added punch.

"SAMMY? WHERE ARE YA? YA HEAR ME KIDDO?"

And maybe _someone _was watching out for the brothers that night, though Dean wasn't so sure about the whole God thing, because a voice that sounded very much like his little brother answered his call.

"_Dean?_"

It sounded very much like his little brother in a lot of pain.

"Sammy? SAMMY! KEEP TALKIN'!"

"_O-over here._"

Dean could hear a weird noise near the bottom of the slope and shone the flashlight downwards even as he leapt and bounded towards it. What came into the beam astonished him and Dean skidded to a halt.

A very weary Sam was blinking up at him in the harsh light, swaying and leaning on a length of wood. But it was the blood on his leg that had Dean running again. He got there just in time for Sam to finally give in and Dean could see it on his face; the kid had reached his limits and would have taken a nosedive into the dirt if his brother hadn't caught him in time.

"Sammy?" Dean laid him out on the ground, keeping his upper body in his arms, holding him close. He brushed Sam's wayward hair back from his face. "Sam can you hear me little bro?"

But the boy was out for the count and now Dean could take a good look at him.

Neck. Pulse racing. _Not good._

Forehead. Hot. Clammy. Fever. _Really not good._

Scalp. Bump the size of a goose egg. Dried blood. Deep cut. _Concussion? At least the blood is dry._

But what about his leg?

Dean shone the flashlight on the wounded limb, swore viciously and loud enough to finally wake his brother. Sam shivered and moaned softly before opening his eyes.

"_Deeaan?_"

"Yeah it's me." Dean tugged him a little closer when Sam shivered again. "I'm so sorry kiddo. This is all my fault."

"_S'ok_. _S-stopped the b-bleeding. O-open fracture. L-leg._" And that seemed about all Sam could manage before his eyes slid shut again.

Dean thoroughly examined the wound. His brother had done a good job under the circumstances, especially considering the agony he must have been in. But it was showing early signs of infection; no wonder Sammy had a fever.

_And to think I told him he couldn't look after himself. He falls from a great height, breaks his leg, loses a lot of blood, develops a fever on top of a concussion, and when I find him he's on his feet and trying to walk out._

_Jesus the kid's stubborn._

Dean smiled sadly as he replaced the gauze over the wound and resealed it. He would have to change the dressing once he had them settled in for the night.

Remembering the blankets, Dean reluctantly laid his brother down long enough to take off the makeshift pack and began unravelling his supplies. Casting a swift glance around he figured here was a good a place as any to set up camp; there was no way they were getting out of here tonight. Sam was badly injured, sick and needed to rest. The alternative, to leave Sam here alone and make his way back to the car to seek help, went totally against the grain and he wouldn't even consider it.

Wrapping his kid brother carefully in the blankets, Dean set about turning their ditch into a home for the night; it was a grim reminder that Sam would have to sleep in yet another strange bed.

Fortunately the weather had been dry of late so finding dry kindling wasn't much of a problem. _Finally something was going right. _Dean soon had a decent fire going, and used the flames combined with the flashlight to see properly so he could clean Sam's leg wound, change the dressing, then move the tourniquet so Sam's leg didn't decide to drop off from lack of a blood supply. The leg needed to be raised up and Dean dragged a small log over and laid his folded jacket on top to use as a bolster.

Finally he checked him over for other injuries.

So far all he had discovered were some nasty bruises, probably from the fall, but little else. Breaking open another sterile package he set about cleaning, stitching and bandaging Sam's head; the cut had bled profusely and had to hurt like a bitch, but from the looks of it his brother had been fortunate to avoid a skull fracture.

Next he faced the difficult task of getting his brother to take some pain killers and antibiotics, the latter of which their father managed to _acquire_ on a regular basis whenever supplies ran low. They were an essential part of a hunter's first aid kit and the Winchesters never went on a hunt without them.

"Sam," Dean whispered softly. "Come on buddy wake up for me. Sammy?"

"_Huh…?_" Tired, bleary eyes finally met up with Dean's and Sam blinked and squinted, trying to bring his brother into focus.

Dean smiled worriedly down at him. "Here, I want you to drink some of this for me ok?" and gently supported Sam's head to allow him a few sips of water, just to keep his throat from drying out. A dry throat meant choking on the pills and Dean really didn't think the Heimlich manoeuvre would help Sam's current condition.

Sam was so out of it that Dean found it easy to get the pills down him, easier than he thought it would be anyhow. The kid was so docile compared to earlier that evening it might have been funny, except Dean couldn't laugh at much right then. After all, he was responsible for Sam's predicament in the first place.

Dean sat back and thought for a moment. His brother's pack was missing, not surprisingly – no way Sam could have dragged it along with him.

"Sam can you tell me where you left your back pack kiddo?" Dean asked softly.

"Where I fell...took what I could..." Sam muttered without opening his eyes.

Dean nodded. "Ok. I'm gonna go find it. You stay still and keep warm; I won't be long I promise."

In fact it only took him about thirty minutes to follow Sam's trail, retrieve the pack, and return to his brother. Throughout the latter part of the journey he tried real hard not to think about the scuff marks, the torn up vegetation...and the blood that showed up in the flashlight beam, instead he concentrated on the distance his brother had managed with a broken leg, blood loss, and a head injury, and only a fallen branch to hold him up. All in all the kid was a damn near superhero.

_That's ma boy!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam muttered and whimpered in his troubled sleep, occasionally calling his brother's name. The shivering grew worse, his hands icy but his face was flushed with fever, and Dean dampened a spare bandage with water to use as a washcloth.

After a while Dean could feel himself dropping off and tried to shake himself awake, but his body was adamant in its own need for rest. In the end he gave up, climbed under the blankets and gently pulled his little brother close, all the better to keep him warm.

"I'm so sorry." Dean whispered again, tucking Sam's head into his neck and wincing at the heat. "I fucked up badly Sam, nearly got you killed and all because of some stupid fight. I promise I'll take better care of you, just give me another chance Sammy, please."

Sam whimpered again, began panting heavily and Dean knew the fever was getting worse.

"Ssshhh, just let the pills kick in and do their job, it'll be ok." But in truth, as he felt himself drift off, knowing there was little more he could do, Dean wasn't entirely sure his kid brother would show any improvement come morning.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean woke up at first light, determined to get some food into his brother before they hit the trail. It was going to be a long and painful journey for Sam and he needed sustenance. Dean intended fashioning some kind of litter out of the blankets and some wood to make it easier on him. He hoped.

Building up the fire again and dragging out a small British Army mess tin from Sam's pack, he half filled it with water and left it to boil whilst he got on with his other tasks.

Sam's fever hadn't broken but on the other hand there was no sign of deterioration either. The kid's breathing seemed easier and he wasn't shivering as violently as he had the night before, much to Dean's relief. The broken leg was another matter. The swelling was quite a horrifying sight and even Dean, who'd seen some pretty gruesome murder scenes in his years of hunting, felt rather nauseous, but forced himself to suck it up and get on with his examination. The pus gave off an evil smell and Dean couldn't believe just how bad it was in such a short space of time, but he managed to clean out the worst of it, even sterilising his hunting knife in the fire and gently scraping away some of the dead tissue around the open wound. Sam whimpered and bucked but with a few quietly spoken words he soon calmed down and managed to stay still. There was still fresh blood oozing along with the pus but at least it wasn't pumping out violently. When Dean first clapped eyes on his injured little brother that had been the first thought to cross his mind. A nicked or severed femoral artery would have signed Sam's death warrant. No way he would have stood a chance of surviving the _night_ let alone the journey ahead.

Dean let the hiss and bubbling of the peroxide solution fill the silence as he bathed the wound, then fixed it with a clean dressing, bandaging it tightly round the splint once more.

He was kind of amazed how Sam slept through most of it and felt pretty sure he himself would have been howling in pain. But then Sam was probably growing used to it after all he'd been through and was too tired to protest, and that thought struck deep, a terrible reminder of just how badly Dean had fucked up last night.

The water was boiling away by now and Dean added the dried food from his brother's pack to the mess tin. The 24hour ration pack was also British Army issue; their father had recently bought some army surplus equipment on the sly and at a very reasonable price from a former member of the British parachute regiment. The guy had been dishonourably discharged for fighting with his sergeant major - for very good reason John felt - and decided to immigrate to the USA for a fresh start. Said fresh start involved the selling of certain items that had, in the ex-para's very words 'fallen off the back of a lorry'. And a military one at that.

Dean stirred the mixture and had to admit that it didn't smell half bad, but the real test would come in getting Sam to eat some.

"Sam? Come on wake up." A small groan but nothing more and Dean smiled softly. "Yeah I know you wanna sleep in buddy, but you need to eat something ok?"

"N'hungry." Sam huffed out as his eyes opened, clearly still dazed and exhausted by the fever.

"Just try a little. Not all." Dean helped his reluctant brother into a half-sitting position, stuffing one of the blankets behind him to hold him up. He stared at Sam's shockingly pale face with dark bruises under his eyes, red fever splotches high on his cheekbones, and had to fight down his self-directed anger. "Here."

He handed Sam a spoon and watched as the poor kid tried to feed himself, holding the implement in a shaky hand. It was too much for him and most of the food fell off back into the mess tin; Sam stared at it morosely then glanced up at Dean.

"M'sorry. Tr...trying." Just that effort alone had nearly finished him.

Dean swallowed his dismay and offered him a comforting smile. "It's ok Sammy; not your fault. Let me help you." It worried him even more that his usually fiercely independent brother offered no protest when Dean supported his neck and began to spoon feed him. Maybe with some food inside him Sam would gain a little strength.

God knew he needed it!

Sam only managed half a dozen mouthfuls before turning his head away. "N'more, pl...please. Can't take any more....I'll be s-sick."

He sounded so desperate that Dean didn't have the heart to push him.

"Alright." Dean lowered the spoon and brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes, gently checking his forehead. "It's ok. We'll try again later kiddo."

Given what lay ahead for him, Dean eagerly finished off the rest of the mess tin and opened another packet. This time he didn't bother boiling any water and just spooned it straight from the foil wrapper, preferring to keep their precious water supply for emergencies. Besides, the way Sam's fever was holding the kid would become dehydrated real quickly.

Only allowing himself a few sips of water to wash down the dried noodles, Dean placed anything he didn't immediately need into Sam's backpack then started on constructing the litter.

He foraged for several lengths of strong timber, used the paracord from Sam's survival kit, his hunting knife and a blanket, occasionally cutting holes or strips where necessary

It didn't take him nearly as long as he thought it would and he was rather proud of the finished result. He'd actually built it up and around his little brother, which meant no unnecessary movement and the measurements were more accurate. Sam looked snug and warm, his broken limb tightly padded and immobilised, bandaged head resting on Dean's jacket. It was designed so that Dean could easily look over his shoulder to check on Sam whenever possible and he'd even rigged it so that Sam's injured leg was raised slightly to keep the bleeding under control. The harness, by which Dean would pull the litter along behind him, was fashioned out of the straps of Sam's pack, by merely lashing the supporting beams of the litter to the main bulk of the pack. It was strong, sturdy and the straps were thick and padded enough to cause Dean the least amount of discomfort. For a while at any rate.

There were just few things left to do. Dean extinguished the remains of the fire with a few handfuls of dirt, then grabbed a couple of items from the first aid kit.

"Sam? Its meds time again so open your eyes." He smiled when Sam complied then frowned when he realised he was strapped into something and could barely move. "It's ok, just a little something I made to get us outta here. Ya know, only princesses usually get carried around like this so it's pretty fitting huh?"

"_Jerk_." Came the slurred reply right before Sam obediently swallowed the antibiotics and pain meds.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, that's me. And you're still my little bitch." His face grew serious when he held something up between thumb and forefinger. "You know what this is right?"

Sam squinted and nodded slowly. Yeah. He knew what that tiny piece of glass was all about.

"I know how much you hate this stuff, so I'm gonna let it go for now. But remember, if things get too bad...it's here. OK?" Dean leaned to study Sam's face, his other thumb gently wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead. "No point in suffering if ya don't have to kiddo, so promise you'll let me know."

"'Kay." Sam whispered back, grateful for the choice. Morphine was always a last resort, but under the circumstances he was kind of surprised Dean hadn't insisted.

"Alright buddy, let's get movin'." Dean brushed his hand through Sam's unruly hair once more, trying not to frown at the warmth. "We aren't that far away but it's gonna take us some time."

Sam just closed his eyes as Dean got to his feet and moved slowly round to the front of the litter. Taking a deep breath, Dean crouched and slid the straps over his shoulders, then fastened the waist belt before straightening his back and rising slowly. _That_ was a struggle, because his brother was no light weight but Dean wasn't about to rush through it and cause Sam anymore pain.

With a few seconds to adjust the straps and get used to the weight, Dean moved off with carefully measured steps, keeping the pace consistent and light. It was up hill for a while, which was tough going for Dean but Sam didn't make a sound.

That was until they came back into the trees, and then it got bumpy. The bottom of the litter was dragging over fallen pinecones, tree roots, and other forest detritus. Dean winced and glanced over his shoulder but Sam seemed quite relaxed, the pain meds obviously working for now.

Dean decided to pick up a little speed and was soon making decent time when they emerged into the meadow, the sun by now casting its morning light on the soft grass. It was quite a different place in the morning light, less harsh, less brooding and Dean raised his face to bask in the suns' warmth. Finally they were close, closer than he'd thought.

"_I like it here. Can we stay? Just for a while?"_

Dean nearly jumped on hearing his brother's soft, pleading voice, and glanced over at him again. "Not right now buddy. I need to get you to a hospital first, but we can always come back once you're fixed up."

Sam was just staring at his surroundings but seemed so demoralised it broke Dean's heart. He undid the harness and lowered the litter, stepping round and crouching beside his brother. The pinched look of pain on Sam's face came as a shock.

"Sammy you promised you'd tell me..."

"M'sorry...couldn't...didn't want you to think I couldn't..."

Dean somehow understood, nodded sympathetically, and didn't waste any more time in administering the morphine, carefully drawing up the clear liquid into a syringe and injecting it into a vein in his brother's arm.

Sam wanted to keep his pain a secret, didn't want Dean to think he couldn't look after himself. Dean more than understood that somehow, but it still made him mad. Mad at himself. _He'd _done this to Sam, made him feel he had something to prove, and that stupid reminder about the bullying had been totally uncalled for....and did a lot of damage.

"Sam, we _will _come back here again someday. We'll go on a proper orienteering exercise _together_. One _we_ planned..._together,_ not my half-assed idea of a challenge." Dean studied Sam's face again, watching it relax into a drugged peace. He leaned into Sam's ear. "And I'll talk to Dad again; I'll persuade him this time. I won't let up 'til he changes his mind."

_And if we have to, we'll stay here without him._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

What might have been hours later, he need not have worried.

By the time he got within sight of the Impala an ambulance and cop car were already waiting, along with John Winchester standing by, a deep frown marring his face. In fact their father looked pretty worn out and mad as hell.

"Where the _hell _you two been?"

It turned out that cell phones in the area had a tendency to trip in and out of signals more times than a desperate junky. But when Dean failed to show up at the bar John had tried contacting his cell, and when that went straight to voice mail, he tried Sam. With the same result. He'd charmed his way into getting the company to track the signal to a certain point but it kept cutting out.

It was after several brow beating phone calls and some real good detective work that someone admitted to seeing Dean's car in the area that night. By morning he'd found the Impala but only by sheer luck. And no sign of his sons.

He'd tried a brief search of the area but turned up only the barest hint of a trail that soon faded out. The long drive back into town had nearly killed him, effectively leaving his boys behind, but he just had a bad feeling...

He'd returned with the cops and a group of medics, and it was while arguing about the merits of starting an actual search and rescue with the dumb bastards _....they just turned up._

And he _knew_ he shouldn't have yelled, _knew _he shouldn't have been mad....but he was so damned relieved when Dean appeared at the edge of the spring, he wanted to shake him hard for scaring the crap out of him...until he realised the burden Dean was carrying...

"Oh no..."

_Sam? My baby Sammy?_

Dean couldn't seem to meet his gaze. Just stared at the ground ashamedly.

John was on his knees in a second at Sam's side, checking him over, grimacing and even gasping at the state he was in. "Sam...Oh God kiddo! Open your eyes for me, please open your eyes..."

"I gave him morphine for the pain. He won't be opening his eyes for a while." Dean's dead sounding voice came through loud and clear. "But we're talking about this. This is my fault, I admit that completely."

John's turned his astonished gaze on his oldest son. "What?" To be met with a pair of furious green eyes.

"But _this _time Dad, we stay here. Sam gets to heal, Sam gets to go back to school, Sam gets to stay here for longer than a mayfly's life expectancy." It was probably the most stubborn expression John had ever seen on Dean's face, and his next words compounded it.

"We're staying here Dad, but you can leave if you want to. You can leave _us._"

John just stared. He'd never issued his sons anything other than commands, but the ultimatum Dean was giving him....left him no choice.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey Sammy? You wanna go further than the garden path this time?"

Sam glanced up, eyes and smile all teenage eagerness. "Really? You mean it?"

Dean grinned and held out the crutches. "If I don't get you outta here you'll plant roots dude." He grimaced. "And I'm starting to get fucking bored!"

He helped his sibling out of the arm chair, allowed him to adjust then gave him the crutches. Dean never could let go even though Sam was more than capable by now. But they'd come to an understanding. And it was deeper than either brother had wanted it to go.

One day, Sam was leaving. Dean knew that. The kid was a good...no _great_ hunter, but he just wasn't ready for it. Dean knew it instinctively in a way that their father couldn't possibly understand. The kid needed something else, a taste of normal. After all, Dean already knew up to the age of five what normal was all about, yet Sam had no concept of it. And that just seemed unfair. So yes, Dean was prepared to fight John for it if needed. If that was what _Sam_ needed.

Sam was _already_ leaving, in his mind and soul, already planning another life. Dean was smart enough to know without Sam telling him that it was only a matter of a few years.

It made him sad but Sam, he kept on telling himself, _needed this._

They were interrupted by a shout from behind and they turned, smiles at the ready.

"Boys!" John appeared on the veranda. "You ordered pizza?" A sudden grin stretched across his face.

"Dad? You're back early!"

"Yeah well, that damn hosepipe was just blocked by a bunch of rotten leaves from last fall. A spirit woulda been a damn sight easier to remove." John was still grinning when he opened a box of wonderful smelling chocolate chip cookies. "She made these especially for us!"

It was good to see their father at a kind of equilibrium for a change.

His youngest son was saved from leg amputation due to his own initial first aid skills, followed by Dean's survival instincts. The boys had made it through together, and John was just grateful for that.

After Endex, John hadn't been happy to say the least, and grounded Dean for a month with a stern lecture about the six Ps theory: Piss Poor Preparation equals Piss Poor Performance.

Sam had of course recovered enough by that time to point out, smart ass that he was, the flaws of the _other_ theory, the Mushroom theory:

"Treat ya team like ya treat ya mushrooms: heap shit on 'em twice a year and keep 'em in the dark." He collapsed back in his cushions with way too much sniggering and John was teetering on the brink of annoyance and amusement on hearing that one, but fortunately sided with the latter and started laughing loudly.

He'd accepted a few local jobs for the next sixth months at least, or the time it took Sam to properly heal. Dean had given his father a few well needed lectures of his own which John accepted with surprising graciousness, and things began to settle down. Sam's physical therapy proved hard on the poor kid, yet he rarely complained because Dean was there like a never ending reassurance, and kept his promises.

But all acknowledged in their own way there were still going to be some troubled times ahead.

In the meantime...

...the boys eyed the fruits of their father's latest job hungrily, already smelling the dark rich chocolate and gooey cookie dough.

"Nuhuh! Pizza first!"

Sam and Dean were unanimous in their reaction,

"Aw DAD!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

_**So there's the third story. Hope you enjoyed it and many thanks for all your support. I apologise for any mistakes in facts, etc. As usual, time has not been kind to me of late as some of you are well aware. I just hope it didn't turn out too bad 'cos my confidence has been waning recently and I nearly didn't bother posting this. As I'm about to explain:**_

**I do have a few words to say to a certain reviewer, just in case she decides to read this one on the quiet. Her name has been kept out for her sake a well as mine, because even I wouldn't resort to 'name and shame' tactics:**

**You've obviously taken my review replies completely out of context. And I would have PM'd to explain that but you threatened to report me if you heard from me again. So this was the only way. Frankly, I can't admire you for that. My job involves long hours and is stressful enough without having to come home from a long hospital shift to find a threatening PM in my inbox! So no, your reviews won't be missed. **

**I have no intention of apologising, so scrap the attitude and get off your high horse. I **_**don't**_** think my writing is perfect; in fact no one is more critical of my fics than me. Ask anyone who regularly reviews my stories.**

**You forget that I hold the right to express my opinions too if I happen to disagree with any of your comments. Which I did and I explained why I felt that way, yet you gave me no useful feedback on them at all except to rant at me for daring to disagree in the first place. So what exactly was the point of the exercise? **

**I have often stated to people that I write for fun and that's it. I don't have the time to spend tweaking the story until its exactly perfect though I do try, and it's extremely disheartening after all that hard work for someone to come along and pull on a tiny thread.**

**As long as people enjoy the story that's all I care about. I can only do my best. But your reviews seemed to **_**want**_** to find fault, when all I really want is a friendly pat on the back and a 'Well done! Keep up the good work'. And yeah, **_**maybe **_**'Thanks for sharing'.** **Yet in spite of my having made this polite request of you once before, you seemed determined to ignore it.**

**I didn't swear or resort to name calling, merely expressed my displeasure at what I personally felt was a rather unnecessary nitpick, so I really don't see your problem. Except perhaps that I am at least willing to put my hand up and admit to not handling criticism very well.**

**I don't see **_**you **_**doing that. Apparently **_**you're **_**right about everything.**

_**Kind and 'friendly' regards,**_

_**.**_


	4. Soul Man

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times when Dean unintentionally hurt his brother.**_

_**Author's notes:**_ This was rather hastily put together last night whilst on call, and as a result I haven't had much of a chance to polish it up for you, so I apologise if anything is amiss with the plot. Also, many thanks for all your support and wonderful reviews so far. They truly are most appreciated and I hope this latest story in the series continues to meet with all your Limp Sam needs.

_**Warning: **_Quite Sam-centric. My way of giving back what _I hear_ Season 4 has taken away. Fairly dark, but I have read much, much worse, and for those of you who have a Sammy-bondage kink this is definitely for you!

**Soul**** Man.**

_Dean forgets to pick his brother up from school, leaving Sam vulnerable, alone, and open for the attentions of a strange predator…_

_Dean 18, Sam 14._

_(Many thanks to Devon99 for the plot bunny.)_

Standing at the side of the road, Sam huffed and turned up his collar against the cold wind and rain. Glancing at his watch for the hundredth time, he shook his head in despair and started walking. It was the last thing he needed. Walking home in the rain, soaked to the skin, sneakers squelching as he trudged along and just to add to his woes a large truck swept by uncaring of the tidal wave it's tyres stirred up and washed over the already miserable teenager.

He knew it wasn't cool to even think it, after all he was a young adult, a hunter, tough, fully trained in unarmed combat and could disassemble and clean an AK47 assault rifle blindfolded. But he still thought it.

He _so_ wanted to cry right about now.

This was the third time in less than a week that Dean had forgotten to pick him up after school. The first and second time Sam had called him on it and all he received for his troubles was his brother's typical sarcasm and 'it'll do ya good to walk.' Or 'ya need some fresh air anyways'.

Sam grimaced as the cold wind pressed his sodden shirt to his body, his jeans clinging to his legs like barnacles to a ship. There wasn't much he could do about it, so he resumed his trudging, head bent against the elements, rain water dripping off his chin.

It was the tingling feeling in his back, as though someone was watching him hard enough to bores holes in his skin that made him turn suddenly, anxious eyes darting round and studying the road in front and rear.

The only sound was rain drops hitting leaves and running off to fill the ruts and cracks in the broken tarmac. Nothing else.

And not another soul on the road. Just Sam.

Sam swallowed nervously. Just because he couldn't see any sign of trouble didn't mean there wasn't any; something wasn't right. In fact, something hadn't been right for days.

He knew he was being stalked, could feel the other's anticipation and excitement, could almost _hear_ the blood pumping through veins hot with need. Sam hadn't said anything to his father; he would have laughed at him. Hell, _Sam_ felt like laughing at first, thinking his over active imagination was playing tricks on him, but the feeling grew until it was all he could think about. He'd tried to tell Dean, but his brother just shrugged it off as some school girl's crush, a poor misguided classmate that wanted to get in Sam's boxers. In any case, Dean's own attention was completely taken up with the fairer sex of late, and in order to avoid being sick Sam was steering clear of the bedroom whenever Dean had company.

But right now he wanted to run. Run home, dive under the covers and not bother coming up for air.

"Hey son! You got the time?"

Sam turned to face a tall handsome guy in his late forties, dark hair with grey flecks, and dark brown eyes.

"Uh sure…" Sam didn't stop to think that the question was hardly very original; he didn't stop to wonder that the man had appeared from nowhere.

And he should have done.

He should have questioned everything about the stranger with the smile that didn't reach his eyes, eyes that were small with a predatory gleam of wanton intent. But he couldn't because that's how glamour spells work, hiding truth and reality but showing a friendly face with a harmless demeanour, and a completely innocent request.

"It's just passed…" Sam didn't even get to finish. A sharp pain in the back of his head and he was plunged into darkness, his school pack thudding to the ground.

The stranger chuckled gently, catching his prey before he pitched face first into a puddle.

"Can't have you getting muddy my little one." He gazed at the youngster lying unconscious in his arms and smoothed the dark, damp hair back from the kid's face. Smiling, the stranger cooed over his latest captive, his slight Eastern European accent evident. "Soooo pretty, so innocent. Knew it the first moment I saw you. I can't wait to taste you."

Backing up from the road, leaving the kid's pack where it fell, eyes sweeping around nervously, the guy moved with swift, sure and graceful steps, carrying the boy through the trees to a plain black van with windows tinted dark as midnight, well hidden from the road.

Sliding the door closed after him, he set about securing Sam with handcuffs and duct tape, all the while grinning gleefully.

Finishing on the kid's ankles, the stranger sat back to admire his latest victim.

Sam lay on his stomach, head to one side, wrists handcuffed tightly at the small of his back, and tape wound round his head several times, firmly sealing his mouth.

The guy frowned at the small cut leaking blood from the back of the boy's head. He hadn't meant to hit him that hard.

_Can't damage the goods, no. No, I wouldn't like it if the goods were hurt. Not yet._

Reaching for the first aid kit and with a gentleness that would have surprised Sam had he been awake, the stranger cleaned and disinfected the head wound then covered it with sterile gauze. By the time he finished, his captive's eyelids were fluttering and a small moan escaped the duct tape.

_Can't let you see me, no, not like this, no…_

The spell was wearing off, he could feel it. It just wasn't strong enough, but with his new victim it soon would be again. His dark hair was slowly turning back to white, his smooth skin turning to wrinkles and age spots developed on the backs of his hands.

Grabbing a bandana from the glove compartment he wrapped the material over Sam's eyes, tying it tightly at the back of his head. The kid was stirring, trying to move and as his breathing picked up, heavy panicked breaths through his nose, it was clear he'd figured out he was tied up. The stranger watched with amusement when the prisoner began to struggle against his bonds, trying to cry out for help through the duct tape, and thrashing his head around to get rid of the blindfold.

"I really wouldn't bother if I were you boy." The stranger's voice sounded like an old tree creaking in the wind, and Sam stilled his movements. "You're going nowhere. You belong to me now."

_Got to savour this child; he's special. But just one taste, just one, yes. Just to see me through..._

He leaned over the boy. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance young Sam, however brief it might be. My name is Xavier, and whatever power you carry will be mine one day soon."

Xavier ran a finger down the side of Sam's face a fingernail nicking the soft flesh at the base of the boy's neck; Sam jerked and whimpered in shock. Swooping in, tongue darting out, Xavier licked and sucked at the tiny cut, moaning softly at the sweet, delicious young blood.

The boy resumed his struggles and tried to wriggle away, but Xavier reached out and grabbed his upper arms, rolling him onto his back. Sam grunted in discomfort as his cuffed wrists were crushed beneath him. Xavier climbed on top and straddled his captive, sucking harder at the kid's neck, hands wound in the damp hair holding Sam's head in place.

Sam's struggles became frantic and he screamed into the duct tape, panic rolling through him in waves. He couldn't seem to get enough air in through his nose, his heart pounded like a road drill and he began to feel dizzy and light headed. With a final muffled moan Sam passed out, head lolling limply in his kidnapper's grip.

Xavier suddenly pulled back, dropping the unconscious boy like a hot stone as he stared at his own hands. Already the skin was changing, brown spots fading, elasticity renewed as once again the youth spell swept back into his body. Xavier smiled, feeling lighter than he had in years. He'd taken the blood and souls of much younger boys but never had it worked so fast before.

_I knew I'd made a good choice in this one. Maybe I'll keep him around a little longer, if this is what just a few drops of his blood is capable of._

He gave the boy a thorough once over, checking his pulse, making sure he could breathe easily, and sealed the cut on his neck with a piece of gauze and medical tape. Satisfied that his captive was otherwise healthy, Xavier slid behind the steering wheel, turned the key in the ignition and smoothly the van pulled away. He chuckled when he glanced in the wing mirror and saw the Impala pull up at the side of the road, the young guy in leather jacket, scruffy, worn jeans and Megadeth T-shirt, leaping out and staring frantically up and down the road. Xavier could feel the brother's panic and guilt even as he sped up, increasing the distance between Dean and his unconscious little brother. He'd been watching this family for days, knew what they were, but this had been too good a chance to pass up; Xavier would drain the boy of his blood, steal his soul, dump the body, and no one would be any the wiser.

_Maybe I should have taken them both. No, too greedy, no, one's enough…this one's more than enough._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_Shit! Sam's gonna kill me._

"Sorry sweetheart, gotta go."

_Dad's gonna kill me._

"I'll call ya later."

"But Dean…" the pretty blond crossed her legs, skirt riding up to reveal silky smooth skin that made Dean feel like chewing on his own fist. "Doncha wanna finish what we started the other night?"

It was the pretty pout that _almost_ persuaded Dean to stay, but his kid brother was out there waiting for him in the rain, and already Dean was an hour late.

"Ah…'nother time. Rain check?" He glanced up at the heavily laden rain clouds with a small grin at the pun. Several inches had already been dumped on the small community in the last few hours and it looked like it had settled in for a long stay.

The girl shrugged and appeared to sulk until Dean leaned over and gently grasped her chin, pressing a chaste kiss to her full firm lips.

"Don't frown. Wind changes an' your face'll stay that way, and we wouldn't want that now would we." He grinned and kissed her again. "I'll see ya tomorrow night."

Winking at her when she smiled back, Dean hitched up the collar on his leather jacket and ran through the pouring rain, jumped behind the wheel, and set out to catch up with what he was certain to be a wet, scowling and extremely pissed off little brother.

Dean smirked. He'd make it up to him, buy him pizza, and maybe let Sam choose the movie tonight. Dad was at the library, sweet talking the old lady there into letting him look at the microfiche of newspaper articles dating back the last half century, which meant he was likely to be there long after closing. So Dean was on babysitting duty tonight, not that he really minded all that much. His little brother might be a geek but he was also pretty cool, and Dean hadn't been spending nearly enough time with him lately.

His grin faded as he approached the school entrance and Sam wasn't there. Dean had told Sam to wait for him and was forbidden to attempt the long walk home, but after an hour of standing around in the cold and rain, Dean couldn't blame him. After all, it was one way of keeping warm and he could soon pick him up on the way through.

Dean watched the road carefully whilst the windshield wipers swept across the glass and dumped rain water over the hood, but there was no sign of Sam. His frustration warred with concern, and soon lost the battle when Dean spotted a familiar looking object at the side of the road.

Heart sinking, Dean pulled the car over and left the engine idling as he raced round the hood and picked up the sodden school pack. Sam's school pack.

"Shit!" Dean's head swivelled to and fro, his eyes rapidly sweeping the area for any sign of his kid brother. "Sammy!" He stumbled forward, desperate for something, _anything_… "Sam!"

He barely registered a black van pulling on to the road from a side track a mile or so ahead, as his panic grew, eyes widened, movements quickened, he searched the immediate area. He checked the ditches on the sides of the road in case his brother had been the victim of a hit and run, but drew a blank and Dean wasn't sure if he felt relieved by that. He examined the ground closely for footprints, and eventually found two sets in the mud. It was a confusing mess but Dean soon formed a rough theory in his mind as he followed one set off the road and into the trees. Sam, and Dean recognised his huge footprints, had been approached on the road. Whoever it was had come out of the undergrowth, but the footprints returning to the tree line appeared deeper, as though the owner was carrying a heavy burden.

Tears welled up in Dean's eyes. He knew what, or rather _who_ that burden had been.

"Sammy where are you?"

Refusing to let his fear dictate to him, Dean went back to the footprints and followed them into the trees, this time going all the way through until he reached a clearing on the other side. The footprints halted abruptly at a set of large tyre tracks and Dean just knew his kid brother had been abducted.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So how long?"

Dean shrugged at his father's question. "Could be anything up to an hour. I was running late again." He glanced at John's face, unable to read his expression. "I forgot I was picking him up tonight."

John said nothing, just crouched and stared at the tyre tracks, frowning deeply.

"We're talking about some kind of van or truck, but I'm gonna go with van. Easier to hide Sam from anyone that might be passing by." He kept his voice neutral for Dean's sake, not wanting the kid to panic any more than he already was, but in truth John was pretty much on the verge of a full blown hissy fit himself right now. "Must've subdued him somehow, may be knocked him out."

"Yeah." Bobby Singer's voice made both Winchester's turn to face him. "I came prepared." He held up a large medical kit. "Just in case."

John nodded at the implication. "We got less than twenty four hours, after that the chances of finding Sam alive will start to fall, and the odds are already stacked against us." He gritted his teeth at his own words when he felt Dean tense up beside him. "You sure you saw nothin' else? No other cars on the road, no one out walking a dog?"

"No n…" Dean blinked as something came back to him. It was a long shot but… "Dad there was van. Black with tinted windows pulling on to the road a ways ahead of me." He started walking then broke into a run, following the tyre tracks out of the clearing. Dean sped up when he saw the main road ahead, doubling his efforts, and crashed to his knees on the roadside, sobbing miserably. His brother had been _right there_. Whilst Dean was picking up the school pack, Sam was being bundled into that black van by some monster, and Dean _had_ _just missed him_.

"Dean, its ok son." He felt his father's hand squeeze his shoulder and got to his feet, uncaring of the wet mud on his jeans.

"No it's not Dad. He was right here." Dean raised his tear-stained gaze to John's face. "Sam was right here, may be hurt and in danger and that…that _bastard_…" he choked back another sob. "I'll just bet he was laughing at me, probably looked right at me and knew who I was. Sam told me days ago he felt watched. What if it's the same person?"

John let that sink in for a second and tamped down his anger. Yelling at Dean wouldn't help them find Sam and it would only waste precious time.

Bobby stood by watching silently as John tried to console his oldest son.

"But we now have new info." John insisted. "We know where he was hiding, laying in wait and because of that we also know what vehicle he was driving."

"Not a lot to go on Dad."

"No? How many black vans with tinted windows you seen round here lately?" John raised an eyebrow as Dean thought about that.

"Just that one." Dean nodded slowly. "So we ask around."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The slow pull to consciousness wasn't a pleasant experience, but what was worse was waking up and not knowing where in hell he was. Sam didn't move for a long time, feeling too weak and drained to do much more than just lay there in the dull light.

Blinking and realising he was no longer gagged or blindfolded, curiosity eventually got the better of him and he managed to sit up slowly and carefully, sighing with relief when he also discovered that the handcuffs had been removed and he could move freely….right up until the manacle at his ankle pulled the chain tight with a metallic clink. He gave it an experimental tug but the chain was welded to a loop embedded in the cement wall.

Speaking of which, a closer inspection of his surroundings revealed that he was sitting on a mattress on the floor of some kind of basement; the only light came from some dim and pathetic light bulb at the top of the stairwell. Sam could just make out the basement door in the shadows cast by the tiny bulb and didn't need to be told it was securely locked.

Fear suddenly slammed into him, squeezing all air from his lungs, as he realised that his clothes were different. He'd been wearing jeans and a T-shirt under his denim jacket, but now he was dressed in dark grey sweats, feet bare, and all his personal effects missing. Including his watch.

_Including his cell phone._

_Shit!_

A loud _click-clunk_ had Sam scuttling backwards, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could, and almost praying he could disappear through it. Loud, slow footsteps descended the stairwell and Sam shivered with apprehension as someone came into view and stopped. The silence was just as unnerving and Sam suddenly found himself blinded by light.

A flashlight. That's all it was. A very powerful flashlight. A couple of _chinks _and something was placed on the floor next to his mattress; it looked like a plate of bread and metal mug.

Blinking up at the guy, Sam opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. His throat was too dry and sore and he really didn't have much energy.

"You need to eat. Keep your strength up." Sam recognised the strangely accented voice as the man who called himself Xavier, the guy who had kidnapped him. "If you don't you will become worthless to me, and I will no longer wish to keep you alive."

Sam swallowed nervously. "Wha…what do you want with me?"

Xavier crouched down, setting the flashlight upright so that its beam shone on the ceiling. Sam could see Xavier's face now and something just looked…_wrong._ He was older, so much older.

"You see. Yes, you do." Xavier nodded and smiled. "Youth. I need your blood to stay young, to reinforce my spells…and eventually, my sweet boy, I will take your soul." He sounded sad and apologetic and that made Sam feel sick. But now his voice took on an edge of excitement and enthusiasm "You are so _different_ from all the others, your blood so sweet and powerful; I've never tasted anything like it. I want to keep you alive as long as possible Sam, just to savour the experience, but you will die I'm afraid. It is unfortunate but that's the way it has to be."

Sam stared at him wide-eyed. Did the guy just expect him to sit there and accept his fate? Was he insane?

"What are you?"

Xavier grinned as he stood and headed for the stairwell, leaving the flashlight on the floor. "I'm a Soul Man."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Hours had passed and they still hadn't made much progress. No one in the small town could recall seeing a black van with tinted windows, and Dean slumped against the Impala, trying to reign in his fears. His Dad was still speaking with the local law enforcement, pretending to be a journalist working on an article about gas guzzling cars and their effects on the environment. Bobby was talking shop with the chief mechanic at the garage, and Dean had just finished up at the bar. He felt so tired but couldn't bring himself to take a break, not with Sam missing. Dean tried not to think about what could be happening to his brother right now and decided to go grab the strongest cup of coffee he could find.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam turned the flashlight so he could actually see what was on the plate. It looked like a sandwich of some description and his stomach complained loudly at being empty when there was perfectly good food sitting there waiting to be devoured.

But _was_ it good food? Could it be drugged? Poisoned?

Sam shook his head at that. Xavier had made it plain he wanted him alive and in good shape. He shuddered when he recalled the reason why and touched a hand to the bandage on his neck. _That_ he remembered quite plainly, being _fed_ off.

"Need to eat if I'm gonna escape," Sam glanced at the metal cuff on his ankle with a frown. "Though _how_ is a good question."

He shrugged and picked up the sandwich, taking a huge bite and chewing slowly. It was actually really good. Roast beef and fresh salad with just a touch of mayonnaise; one of Sam's favourites, and he chewed with a little more enthusiasm until there wasn't one crumb left. Sam gulped back the contents of the mug, which was just plain old water, washing down the sandwich.

Now that he felt a little better Sam picked up the flashlight and began exploring his prison at the end of the chain. Which the exception of his corner, the basement was filled with all kinds of crap; old furniture, a 1940s style typewriter, and even an old sewing machine.

He swept the beam over the rest of the room, not entirely sure what he was looking for. A weapon may be, or something to get him out of the ankle cuff.

Someone must have been watching over him because a dull gleam caught the light in the corner of the room and he moved closer.

"No way!" He breathed quietly, unable to believe his luck. It looked like a paperclip. A small smile worked its way on to Sam's face.

Laying down on his stomach and stretching out as best he could, Sam reached for the small clip. It was just out of his reach and Sam tried harder, wriggling and stretching a little more, grunting with the effort, muscles cramping up…

…and suddenly he was there, his fingers curling round his very own key to freedom.

Not giving himself any time to relax and get his breath back, Sam eagerly pulled open the paperclip and began tackling the lock on the manacle. A tiny click and it popped open, releasing Sam's ankle, and he climbed to his feet, running up the stairwell as quietly as he could.

Listening at the door for any sound of movement, Sam gripped the paperclip and slipped it into the keyhole, expertly manoeuvring his makeshift lock pick and tentatively feeling his way round. Another few seconds and the lock gave a loud _clunk_ and Sam winced, holding still for a minute to see if he'd attracted the Soul Man's attention.

Sam snorted quietly. _Soul man? Did he think he was being funny? What a jerk!_

It seemed he was clear and Sam eased the door open, keeping his ears strained for the slightest sound and peering through the small gap.

_So far so good._

He slipped silently out of the basement and crept along a dark hallway, and right at the other end was the main door to the house. Or as Sam saw it, his door to the outside world.

Moving quickly and silently, Sam was soon lifting the latch and sliding out into the night. Running swiftly across the ill-kept lawn, he studied the neighbourhood. It was nothing like the small town the Winchesters and Bobby had been staying in and Sam wondered just how far away Xavier had taken him from his family.

These houses had seen better days, paint peeling off the guttering, tiles missing from roofs and rotting verandas with broken down porch swings. Xavier didn't seem the type to settle for such squalor but then Sam didn't know him very well and really had no desire to.

Crouched and waiting to make a run for it, Sam eyed a few passing cars, noting that there was no vehicle in the Xavier's driveway.

_Perhaps he's gone out for the evening?_

No such luck. A large calloused hand clamped over Sam's mouth and he was dragged backwards against a solid chest, arms pinned to his sides as he struggled uselessly. The guy was frighteningly strong and soon had Sam tightly restrained in his arms.

"Shouldn't have done that boy." Xavier whispered in Sam's ear, tightening his hold and eliciting a muffled whimper from his captive. "I've been watching you for days, waiting for my chance to take you. I'm not letting you go so easily after all I went through. No. Never."

Sam was effortlessly lifted off his feet and carried back inside the house, the front door slamming shut like a tomb. He could barely breathe and Xavier made it all the worse for him by pinching off his nose between thumb and forefinger. Sam's eyes bulged as he tried desperately to suck air into his already burning lungs and figured this was it. Xavier was going to kill him right here and now.

So distracted and weakened by the lack of oxygen he barely noticed that Xavier had ripped the gauze off his neck, re-opened the wound with his tongue and began sucking. Hard. Sam blinked and tried to squirm free, earning a low chuckle from the guy. This time round Xavier didn't pull any punches, just widened the cut with his teeth, tearing at Sam's flesh. The kid would have screamed into Xavier's hand but he had no air left and Xavier still hadn't released his nose.

Sam's eyelids slid to half mast and he stopped struggling, having run out of reserves, just hung limply in Xavier's tight embrace, listening to the obscene sucking and gleeful grunting as Sam's blood was consumed with relish.

Xavier only took so much, just enough to leave his captive weak and unable to fight, but it tasted, _felt_ so damn good. Partially suffocating the boy had sped up his heart rate, making it easier to access the pulsing red liquid. He relaxed his hold on the kid who would have slid bonelessly to the kitchen floor without Xavier to hold him up.

But Xavier was still mad as hell. He'd nearly lost the fine prize he'd been waiting for all his life, and suddenly it no longer mattered to him if the kid was damaged in some way, just so long as he lived. Dragging the semi-conscious boy out of the kitchen and down the hallway, Xavier opened the basement door and pushed his captive inside, nudging him until Sam rolled down the stairwell.

The kid didn't even cry out when his leg snapped, didn't utter a sound as his head smashed repeatedly into wooden step after wooden step. He just came to rest, sprawled out on the basement floor, now completely unconscious.

Xavier stood at the top of the stairwell, his sharp, white hot temper already starting to cool.

_Oh God, what have I done no? No! Not right!_

And that's when he knew he was in trouble. Having had a taste of his blood, Xavier was starting to care about the kid.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John left the sheriff's office trying not to build up too much hope. No one had seen a black van with darkened windows in _this_ town, but in a town a few miles over it was a different story. Someone driving a vehicle matching the van's description had been pulled over for a broken tail light; the sheriff couldn't go into specifics but John caught a glimpse of a name on the computer screen when the officer's back was turned.

Xavier Romanov, aged 88, recently moved to the area, renting a house in the South East side of the town. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to get a full address as the sheriff turned back to him with two steaming mugs of coffee, and they continued their discussion about fast cars and exhaust emissions.

John frowned as he headed towards the bar where he planned to meet Dean and Bobby. The guy was 88; could he really have abducted Sam that easy? The kid was skilled in tae kwon do so it was highly unlikely, but it was the only lead they had right now, and it was _always_ worth checking out the unlikely. Time was running out and they had to move fast.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam came round he found himself back under restraint, sitting up and leaning against a wall. His leg was throbbing in something close to pain but he couldn't reach out to check it. The handcuffs were back on, securing his wrists behind him, and so were the gag and blindfold, though he noted with some relief that the gag wasn't tape this time. Just soft material pulled tight between his teeth. He shifted sluggishly, his body refusing to fire on all four cylinders and he grunted in frustration.

"Don't try to move," Xavier's softly accented voice came at him from close by, making Sam jump with nerves. "Aside from being tied up again, a measure I didn't wish to take but you forced my hand, your left leg is broken. You..._fell_ down the basement steps. I have splinted and bound the limb but you must keep it still. The reason you can't feel too much is a combination of my feeding off you last night and the morphine I've just given you. You'll find it will all settle down in a little while."

Sam just moaned weakly in response, unable to do much more.

"I'll be back later with some soup; it'll help build your strength back up."

Another small moan, though Sam really wanted to flip the guy off. He vaguely heard footsteps retreating up the stairwell and the thud of the door being shut, and Sam knew he was all alone.

That feeling came back.

He _really_ fucking wanted to cry about now. Was this guy some kind of vampire? But that didn't feel right. Not in the true sense of the word.

Sam wondered if his family were out looking for him, if they were scared for him or just plain angry for disappearing on them. Dean was probably tearing his hair out right now and blaming himself for this, his father and Bobby would already be knee deep in the hunt and not yet noticed his absence. It worried Sam that he couldn't for the life of him remember what the hunt was for, but then he wasn't exactly in the best of shape and it didn't really matter.

Deciding there wasn't much else he could do, Sam slumped down on the mattress and tried to get some sleep.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Xavier released the spell on his appearance shortly before exiting the van. He found that people round here tended to respond well to some sweet little old man, and it made getting what he needed much easier.

The local convenience store was tiny but well stocked and Xavier pulled tins of soup from the shelves and added a loaf of bread. Smiling at the cashier, Xavier chatted away with the young girl about the weather, how pretty she was looking today, and how if he were a few years younger he'd be showing her a good time. She giggled prettily at the old man's flattery, patting his arm and thanking him.

Strolling out to the van and dumping his groceries inside, something caught his eye. A black Chevy Impala cruised into town and Xavier ducked out of sight, recognising the driver immediately. _Sam's brother. _Following on behind, was a large black truck driven by the boy's father which Xavier squinted at in admiration. He had to give this family their due; they certainly had good taste in cars.

Xavier grimaced at the old heap driven by the family friend however and disappeared inside a book shop, pretending to browse through some old angling magazines at the back.

So they'd tracked him this far. It surprised him, he had to admit; he knew they were good, but still…

It was time Xavier and his young prisoner got the hell outta dodge.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby had kept an eye on the black van whilst Dean and John scouted the nearby stores for the owner, but it seemed the old codger had disappeared into thin air.

Scratching the back of his neck Bobby scanned the parking lot, the storefronts and finally settled his gaze back on the van just as the owner showed up.

And judging from his behaviour Bobby was more than convinced he was responsible for Sam's disappearance. Xavier Romanov kept sending furtive glances all around whilst he unlocked the van, as though worried someone was going to catch him in some illegal act.

Something weird was going on. Bobby blinked and could swear someone younger had been flickering in and out, the elderly man disappearing for a few seconds. And suddenly Bobby knew what they were dealing with.

A Soul Man. A form of witch that only maintained their powers by drinking the blood of the young, finally consuming their souls at the last stage and completing the spell. One soul could last them an average of five years before they started searching for their next victim, preferably healthy and almost always a budding psychic. Soul Men were often fairly ancient – Bobby was willing to bet he could add on another couple hundred years to Romanov's quoted age easy - and as they aged they spent more of the stolen energy on keeping their young appearance through a glamour spell, needing more and more as time moved on. It wasn't real but it could fool a person into thinking it was. Also, Soul Men weren't immortal but they _were_ hideously strong, all of which explained how he'd managed to get the drop on Sam.

And there was only one thing that would kill them. Consecrated iron rounds.

Without taking his eyes off the old guy, Bobby flipped open his cell and made the call he'd been dreading.

There was a strong possibility that Sam was already dead, but Bobby conveniently forgot to mention that to the Winchesters.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam woke up again, something had changed. For a start his wrists were now cuffed in front of him, giving him a little more freedom, but he was also wrapped in a nice soft, warm blanket.

"You were cold. Can't afford for you to fall ill." Xavier pulled the cloth from Sam's mouth, but left the blindfold in place. "Open your mouth."

"Please…let me go…" Sam wasn't above begging by now and just wanted to go free. He was desperate to see his brother; he'd missed Dean so much these last few months as it was, what with Dean's ambition to screw his way through the entire child-bearing female population of America, but right now Sam needed to see his face and hear his voice.

"I said open. Don't make me force this soup down your throat; it is rather hot and I wouldn't want you to burn your mouth." Though the guy's voice was soft there was a hard edge to it.

Sam nodded wearily. He knew that once a threat was issued Xavier would make good on it if Sam didn't do as he was told. He opened his mouth obediently.

The chicken noodle soup tasted good and Sam had to admit that in spite of everything, Xavier was taking good care of him. The only times he'd been rough on him was during his capture and after the escape attempt.

Sam just couldn't figure the guy out.

He accepted a few mouthfuls of bread and greedily drank the offered water, until Xavier warned him to slow down in case he was sick. Sam had a truck load of questions for his abductor but it became clear that Xavier wasn't interested in providing answers, because as soon as Sam finished his meal the cloth was gently shoved back in his mouth and tied at the back of his head. He was startled when an arm slipped round his back, another sliding under his knees and he was lifted up, still encased in the blanket, and cradled against Xavier's chest. The fresh gauze on his neck was removed and Sam tensed just as that familiar _awful _sensation came. Xavier was feeding off him again though it didn't hurt as much as last time, but Sam began to panic as he grew light headed and whimpered into his gag; Xavier was taking too much, on top of what he'd already taken from Sam the previous night.

Sam pushed at him weakly with his cuffed hands, silently begging him to stop, but finally, to Sam's relief, the feeding session was over and then he was moving.

"Your family came looking for you today, asking questions about me, and showing photographs of you to people in the street." Xavier heard Sam's breath hitch slightly as he carried him carefully up the basement steps. "I cannot allow them to find you. We leave tonight."

He said no more on the subject and what was Sam supposed to say to that anyhow? _Sure? Ok, let's go? How 'bout you set me down here with my cell phone, and __**you **__leave town?_

Except of course he couldn't say anything, see anything and couldn't fucking move!

Part of that was soon remedied when the blindfold came off. Sam blinked at the over harsh light then focussed his attention on the black van with darkened windows, and his heart sank. Obviously, Xavier had carried him into the garage through an interior door because Sam would have noticed the change in air temperature if they'd gone outside. And besides, it would be too risky to carry a bound and gagged prisoner out the front door for all the world to see.

Sam ran his eyes over the van one more time. It would be almost impossible to see through the glass; his family could walk right by and never know he was there.

The sliding door stood open, silently waiting for its human cargo. Xavier set the boy down inside, then grabbed his cuffed hands and threaded a length of chain through, padlocking it in place. Sam's eyes tracked the chain, following it to a large piece of hardwood that was firmly fixed to the floor of the van, and sighed in despair. He wasn't getting out of here under his own steam that was for sure. Xavier was taking no chances on Sam escaping again, though it was rather a moot point with the broken leg and all.

His captor adjusted the blanket upwards, tenderly brushing Sam's hair out of his eyes, and smiled sadly.

"I will try to make you as comfortable as possible but the journey will be long; I can't risk exceeding the speed limit, not with you on board." He watched as Sam's eyes widened, fixed on the syringe and needle. "Relax boy. This is just a small dose of morphine to keep the pain at bay. Understand?"

Sam nodded, blinking hard. Now that he mentioned it, his leg was starting to make itself known again and Sam really didn't want to spend the next God knew how long in agony. But he still watched the needle suspiciously, wondering if it was just Xavier's way of keeping him quiet during their travels.

"I'll leave off the blindfold for now." Xavier explained as though giving Sam some sort of reward for not kicking up a fuss so far. "But the gag must remain I'm afraid. If you woke up whilst I was refuelling you could attract someone's attention."

But Sam's eyes were already drooping under the influence of the morphine.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Bobby where are ya?"

"I'm right outside the bastard's house. Can ya see me?"

Dean peered over the top of a garden wall and squinted into the darkness. He smiled grimly. "Yep, I gotcha."

Bobby was hiding in the shadows of a large oak tree, watching the house. At the other end of the street and hidden out of sight John was waiting in the truck just in case Romanov managed to get through once Bobby and Dean stormed inside.

Dean's heart was in his throat as he waited for the signal. He hadn't eaten or slept properly since Sam went missing, unable to swallow anything down into the volcano pit that masqueraded as his stomach these days.

_God Sammy please be ok._

Sam was never walking home from school ever again. Sam was never walking to the store alone ever again. Sam was never going outside to empty the trash ever again.

_Sam was never going anywhere on his own….__**ever**__ again._

As soon as Sammy was back with him, safe and sound, he was going to have a permanent shadow in the form of his older brother. Dean had already forgotten about the blond waiting for his call; the gorgeous legs and tempting cleavage had faded from his list of priorities. The only person he could think about right now was Sam, and he hoped like hell his little brother wasn't hurt or mistreated in anyway.

"What the…?"

"Bobby?"

"Dean move! The garage door just opened; he's taking off!"

"Fuck!"

Dean leapt over the wall, weapon drawn and raced at full speed towards the house, but the van was already screeching out the driveway and heading off.

"Damnit!" Dean carried on running after it, his heart telling him that Sam was inside. The van disappeared round a bend in the road and Dean sent a note of thanks heavenward that his father was waiting not far ahead. A loud squeal of tyres had Dean picking up speed as he rounded the same bend, and sure enough John's truck was parked across the road, blocking the van's passage.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Xavier swore loudly when he realised the house was under surveillance by Sam's family, and stomped his foot down hard on the throttle. They'd hidden themselves well but Xavier's quietly muttered revelation spell had exposed them. Though if he'd thought about it, he might have wondered where the boy's father had gotten to.

Racing down the road, he could see Dean sprinting along after him and grinned. No way would the older brother catch up with him now…

Quick reflexes and decent brakes prevented him from piling into the side of the big black truck parked askew on the road. Xavier drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and was about to reverse up but a loud rumbling from behind had him turning in his seat to see Bobby's vehicle blocking his final escape.

Xavier popped the lid on the glove compartment and removed a Browning 9mm. Leaping into the back of the van, he quickly released the padlock keeping Sam chained to the floor and snatched the drugged boy up in his arms just as the sliding door was yanked open.

"Don't make me use this," Xavier spoke quietly and Dean froze at the sight of his brother, gagged and bound, with the barrel of a pistol wedged firmly against his temple.

"What've you done to him?" Dean's gaze swept over his seemingly unconscious little brother, eyes hardening when they took in the splint. "What the hell happened to his leg?"

"That was regretful and should not have happened." Sam's captor seemed genuinely concerned but Dean couldn't give a damn. "He tried to escape and I had to take action to ensure he wouldn't attempt it again."

Dean tried to stop himself but the words just spilled out of their own accord. "You sick bastard! You broke his leg?"

"T'was an accident I assure you…"

"What? You had to hurt him? You couldn't have just drugged him instead?" Dean yelled still unable to stay quiet. His brother was frighteningly pale, breathing a little too shallow for comfort and Dean was beginning to despair. In his peripheral vision he could see his father moving silently across the open road to the van, but sliding out of view to the opposite side, effectively aiming for the van wall directly at Xavier's back.

Xavier's form flickered between young and old, young and old, as his power began to deteriorate. He'd need to feed again soon and if he didn't he would lose Sam, and his family would kill him. Keeping his hostage in place as a human shield, Xavier lowered his mouth to Sam's neck, teeth pulling at the bandage and never taking his eyes off Dean. The slightest move the older boy made meant a regretful punishment for the younger brother.

"What the fuck are ya doin' to him? Leave him alone!" Dean watched helplessly as Sam's eyes fluttered open. The Soul Man had latched on to Sam's neck and began to feed, still managing to keep the pistol jammed against the boy's head. Sam bucked weakly against his captor, whimpering in pain. Xavier's one regret was hearing the boy suffer and wished he'd given him a larger dose of morphine since the last one was already wearing off. But now it was time.

Xavier pulled back just enough to whisper "I'm sorry Sam, but it's either you or me."

And went back to take one final drink before he would take Sam's soul.

_Hurry Dad!_ Dean wanted to shoot the bastard right there and then but couldn't risk hitting his brother, or Xavier squeezing the trigger on the Browning. All he could do was wait until John was in position…

"Sammy!" Dean sobbed as Sam's pleading eyes fell on him, slightly unfocussed and filled with pain. "Just hold on!" But he could tell that his little brother was dying.

Sam's eyes began to dull, the light fading, but he kept his gaze stubbornly on Dean, mouth working round the gag as if trying to speak.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

He had no idea if this was going to work; they were all working well beyond the realms of the original planned rescue attempt, like an actor without a script, and the strain was beginning to show. John closed his eyes, ear pressed firmly to the metal and concentrated all his efforts on listening. He had to get this just right, accurate to within a millimetre or Sam would die. And judging by the heart rending muffled words coming from the van, it would have to be quick because Xavier was obviously feeding off his youngest, and probably for the last time.

Taking a deep breath and placing the muzzle of the high powered, custom built shotgun to the side of the van, John squeezed the trigger.

The loud boom was deafening, consecrated iron tearing through metal, sinew and bone, and John was thrown backwards by the recoil, hitting the ground shoulder first. He winced and got to his feet, racing round the van just as Bobby jumped out of his truck.

Dean was pulling the cloth out of Sam's mouth, having already picked the lock on the handcuffs. Both boys were dripping with blood and brain matter but that wasn't the most disturbing part.

"Bobby, call 911." John climbed up inside the van and knelt next to his sons, pushing Xavier's body aside. Dean cradled Sam gently in his arms, tilting his head back to make breathing easier on the poor kid. Sam looked shocking, face virtually bloodless and lips tinged with a distressing blue. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest accompanied by a hitched wheezing noise in his throat convinced John the boy was even alive.

Placing a hand over Sam's forehead, John whispered words of comfort meant for both his sons, then caught Dean's eye. "Ya did good son. Tough call not to open fire on the bastard, but ya did good."

Dean held his gaze for a long moment before turning his attention back to his brother. "Wouldn't have come to this if I'd picked him up from school when I was s'posed to." He muttered sadly, eyes glistening with moisture. "He could still die."

"Uhuh." John nodded his own eyes suspiciously bright. There was no point in lying to him and Sam did look close to death. "But on the other hand he might live."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Watching Sam sleep was significantly less boring than Dean thought it would be. But then, he _was_ still euphoric over the fact his little brother was going to live, in spite of having been drained of almost every drop of blood.

That was no exaggeration according to his doctor, _almost every drop of blood, _and Dean's own arm throbbed in remembrance of the blood donation from hell. He smirked when he thought that somewhere in the hospital Bobby Singer was recovering from a dead faint, though in all honesty Dean felt grateful the old man insisted on donating another pint.

The medical staff was still in a state of shock that Sam was alive at all but kept up the professional front as they'd whisked him away to radiology for a scan, then emergency surgery to fix his leg.

The leg in question was now encased in a proper cast and raised up on some pillows, but its owner had yet to sign in with the rest of the family. Dean stroked Sam's cheek, glad to see a trace of colour making its way back, the tube running under his nose delivering badly needed oxygen. His body had gone into shock at one stage, Sam nearly crashing and needing artificial respiration to keep him breathing but that scary machine was gone now, probably plugged into some other poor bastard desperately clinging to life.

John, once he'd given a few pints of his own blood, had taken care of the police, more or less telling the truth about the whole situation. The only thing he left out was the fact Xavier had lied about his age somewhat – _ahem -_ and was actually a kind of witch that needed blood to survive and keep up his powers. The police just assumed the guy was a lunatic that got his kicks from kidnapping young boys and drinking their blood; John hadn't seen the point in correcting them.

Dean's gazed sharpened when Sam's eyes started moving around under the lids, eyebrows twitching in a semi-frown.

"S'ok Sammy. You can wake up now." Dean whispered and started smiling at the barest slither of blue-green catching the dim light of the reading lamp. "That's it buddy….hey, welcome home."

Sam finally blinked awake but immediately shifted in a panic, trying to scramble away.

"Whoa! Take it easy kiddo," Dean got out of his seat and perched on the bed, holding him still and running a soothing hand through Sam's hair as his eyes darted about frantically, "You're safe here, Xavier's gone. Remember?"

"I…" Sam swallowed hard, shaking with blatant fear. "Where…" He couldn't seem to finish a coherent sentence, his breathing coming in short gasps as though he'd just been running a marathon.

"Ssshhhh Sammy, look at me." Dean cupped Sam's face and gently forced his frightened eyes to lock with his. "Listen to my voice ok? Can you hear me?"

Still shaking, Sam's nod was a jerky almost out of control movement and Dean continued talking softly, constantly reassuring his little brother he was safe.

"You're in a hospital. Perfectly safe here. Your leg's broken but they've fixed you up and you'll be as good as new in no time." Another quick smile. "Not to mention you got some of my awesome blood so don't be surprised if you show a superhuman trait, like getting a date with a hot nurse."

Sam's mouth began to curl up into a smile at that, but Dean could tell he was still badly frightened. His next words confirmed it.

"Don't leave me? Pl…please?" He whispered back, tears gathering in his eyes. "Ssssso sc…scared. He t…told me I was g…gonna die…an…an' he w..wouldn't st…stop feeding…" Sam's shaking grew more violent if at all possible, his words broken and distorted as he struggled to breathe through the panic.

"It's ok Sammy. I've never leaving you again, I promise." Dean shifted round so he could hold Sam close and gently rub his back; resting his chin on Sam's scalp he prayed that some of his words were getting through. "I'm sorry kiddo; it won't happen again. From now on you're gonna hafta put up with me haunting your every move 'cos I just aint ready to let ya outta my sight."

At first he didn't think Sam had heard him but then the quietly spoken "good, I won't mind that at all" made him smile.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Here ya go," Dean handed back the other crutch. He'd wrapped some thick wadding round the palm rests so his brother wouldn't develop anymore blisters on his hands. Sam smiled shyly and whispered a quiet thankyou, before hobbling across the room testing out the 'custom' job as Dean proudly put it.

"Well? How's it feel?" Dean studied his brother trying not to look too worried though he was constantly worried about him these days.

"It's great. It really works." Sam flashed him a genuine happy smile and Dean relaxed a little. It was good to see that dimpled smile, however fleeting, though the time it spent on Sam's face was growing longer. "Thanks Dean."

"You're welcome little bro."

Sam still jumped whenever someone came barging abruptly into the room, and he hated sleeping with the bedroom door shut. Sam refused pain killers when he was first released from hospital, too afraid that they'd knock him out and Xavier Romanov would freely stalk his dreams. Dean soon managed to talk him out of that, assuring him that the pain killers were just there to take the edge off.

He was a far cry from normal, still suffering from post-traumatic stress and the nightmares that came with it, but after finally telling John, Dean and Bobby about his ordeal in captivity, no one could honestly blame him. Was even amazed the kid had bounced back at all.

But that was his Sammy; never could keep him down for long. Dean gently teased him, just big brother stuff, coaxing the odd chuckle out of him, and generally taking charge of Sam's recovery. He took the doctor's advice seriously about getting back to normal but letting Sam set the pace, and Dean was pleased with the result. Day by day, little by little, he was gradually getting his kid brother back.

The brothers had cleared the air a little too, which helped. Dean couldn't apologise enough and Sam put a stop to it with a small lecture of his own. He explained that Xavier claimed to have been watching him for some time, waiting for a chance to take him. If it hadn't it happened on the road there would have been numerous other opportunities, maybe when it could've be harder to trace him, and Sam was just glad they found him in time.

John eased Dean's burden by not bringing up the matter of leaving Sam waiting outside the school, effectively offering him up to Xavier on a plate. Dean had enough to deal with right now and John saw no benefit in stepping on the point and deepening his guilt trip. He'd taken the boys back to Bobby Singer's salvage yard, seeing as it was the closest base nearby. Pastor Jim Murphy had been informed and was currently making his way across country to offer his counsel. John knew Sam was looking forward to his visit and hoped his son would find the answers he needed to put Xavier to rest for good.

No one talked about why Sam had been chosen or why he'd been kept alive; as Bobby had pointed out the victims tended to be young and psychic, but so far Sam hadn't shown any signs of the latter. All Sam knew was that Xavier had thought his blood special, and wanted to keep him alive because of the sheer power it gave him.

It set off alarm bells in John's head but he wisely kept that to himself. At first he'd thought it was something to do with Sam being a universal recipient, as the doctor explained when everyone was frantically donating to keep Sam alive, and could take pretty much any blood type. But John wasn't so sure now; something was niggling at him and it would be many years before he even had a clue.

Still, Sam was alive and his brother was helping him in all the ways that were needed. John had to be grateful for that.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hello Sam." Pastor Jim waited in the doorway for permission to enter the bedroom, where Sam was seated at the window, crutches on standby, and a small frown on his face. "May I come in?"

"Uh…sure." Sam's smile was sad and confused, and the Pastor's heart went out to the youngster in his troubled times.

"How are things round here? Bobby's cooking improved at all?" Jim grinned when Sam smirked.

"Nah, same as always."

"Oh dear. Still, at least he's consistent."

"Yeah, he still either undercooks or outright burns the food." Sam started to relax a little under the Pastor's watchful eye. "Dean doesn't seem to mind though."

"Your brother'll eat anything; he's a talking garbage can on legs." Jim nodded in amusement and Sam chuckled his agreement.

They both sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments but Jim could sense the youngster had something on his mind. He didn't have long to wait.

"Pastor Jim? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure Sam. You can ask me anything, ya know that." he smiled. "So long as it's not the one about where babies come from."

Another quick genuine smile and Sam was truly relaxing.

"Uh…" Sam was picking nervously at his fingernails. "One thing I don't get about Xavier. He was always so….I dunno how to describe it….gentle? He never let me starve or go without water, and apart from when I tried to escape he looked after me, made sure I wasn't in any pain. Why bother going to such lengths? He was going to kill me anyhow, even told me that right from the start, so why did I matter so much to him? I was just another meal."

Jim thought about that long and hard before answering as honestly as he could.

"Not all Soul Men, or even Soul Women for that matter, are born evil. Most live normal lives and die in the natural course of time, refusing to take an innocent life for their own ends. And some, and I believe Xavier to be one of these, never wanted to become a part of it, but were somehow forced into such a way of life. All it takes is one soul and you're hooked on the power, the _glamour_ of it all. It's like an illegal narcotic; one taste and you become a slave to it." Jim watched the expressions crossing Sam's face and nodded to himself. The kid was beginning to understand. "I don't think, from what you've told me, that Xavier liked what he was doing, even hated having to kill in order to survive. There's a fair chance he'd once been an extremely kind and giving human being, but once he got a taste he couldn't go back and made up all kinds of excuses to justify his actions in his own mind."

Sam's frown deepened, sad eyes seeking Jim's. "You mean we couldn't have found a way to save him?"

Ah. This was tricky territory and Jim knew he had to be real careful with his answer. "I think you did save him. Xavier knew what the outcome would be; your family wouldn't have let him survive after what he did to you. They would have hunted him down and put a stop to it. Xavier wasn't stupid and probably knew what kind of people he was dealing with; hunters." Jim smiled slightly. "My guess is he wanted to be caught before he killed again. Before he killed _you._"

He held his breath, wondering if Sam was buying it. In truth, Jim wasn't so sure himself and was merely clutching at straws, but if it helped Sam feel a little better about it then that was all he cared about.

"Ok," Sam nodded slowly. "I guess."

They talked for a while longer, about school, the bible, John's continued obsession with finding Mary's killer, Dean and his amazing bottomless pit for a stomach, and Bobby's incredibly bad culinary skills.

Pastor Jim had a particular fondness for the youngest Winchester. Sam thought deeply about the world around him, and it troubled the kid when he couldn't understand why things were a certain way. He took things to heart, held them close and didn't let go. His brother being a prime example. Sam hated that Dean still blamed himself for what happened and was constantly trying to find ways to make his big brother see things differently, to help _Dean_ heal in the same way that Dean was helping him. And it made sense. Sam could only move on from this if the brothers moved on together.

"Sam! Getcha ass down here!" Dean's bellowed up the stairs, and added tentatively "Yellow alert!"

Jim raised an enquiring eyebrow when Sam grimaced.

"That means dinner's ready…._and Uncle Bobby prepared it_." Sam finished darkly.

Jim's face was a picture of sheer horror. "I don't s'pose there's any chance I could be excused…" His voice trailed off at the sympathetic shake of Sam's head. "Nah…didn't think so. Ok come on, let's getcha down those stairs."

Dean was waiting at the bottom looking a little concerned. He always did when he watched his brother attempting the stairs on that broken leg, usually stepping in to help with the last few feet. But he had more reason to be worried today, knowing that when Pastor Jim paid Sam a private visit it was usually to discuss something profound that Dean couldn't help his brother with. It saddened him but there was nothing he could do about it until Sam opened up, and the only way _that_ would happen was if Dean backed off and gave him some breathing space.

"Come on, Sasquatch and don't forget to hold ya nose!" Dean called out cheerfully.

"I heard that ya little shit!" Bobby all but growled from the kitchen and they could hear John choking back laughter.

Sam shook his head and let his brother guide him the rest of the way, an arm curled protectively round Sam's shoulder. Pastor Jim followed on behind with a knowing smile. Sam didn't really need the help, managing just fine on his own, but Dean _needed_ to help and Sam just let him. It was that simple.

Seated round the dinner table, all awaited the offerings with considerable dread. Sam even closed his eyes when he heard the oven door opening, and Pastor Jim muttering the Lord's Prayer under his breath nearly made him snort out loud.

"Hey dude." Dean nudged him gently, "Do we like get a stay of execution or something if we offer to do the dishes?"

Their father attempted to hide his grin. "Dean, button it!" he turned to Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You ok there son?" There was more to that question than just four words, Sam knew.

"I will be Dad." Sam grinned when his father ruffled his hair affectionately.

Dean drew in a deep breath as Bobby entered the room. "Well, this is it. Valhalla awaits us."

"Easy on the blasphemy there kid," Jim whispered. "It's heaven or nothing."

Sam frowned. "How do you know about Valhalla Dean?"

"I didn't always skip class to go necking under the bleachers ya know!" Dean pretended offence but a small smile broke out. "Actually I watched the porn version of Ride of the Valkyries." He shook his head, puffing his cheeks out. "Whoa that was sweet…"

"Dean!" John's voice was a little more disapproving this time as he indicated the presence of the Pastor.

"Uh…sorry."

Bobby tutted and place a large cauldron-style cooking pot on the table and removed the lid with a flourish. "Irish stew ladies, now dig in afore it gets cold."

The table fell silent as the grave as each hunter was served up a big bowl of stew, and to everyone's surprise it actually smelled good.

Even better…

"Wow Bobby this is great! Where dya get the recipe?" Sam's spoon was already scraping the bottom of his bowl enthusiastically. Dean watched him with a sense of relief. The kid was too skinny, having lost his appetite since they freed him from Xavier so it was another item ticked off Dean's wishlist when Sam eagerly accepted another bowl of stew from Bobby. Only when his little brother was tucking in again did Dean allow himself to eat. And he had to admit, the stew was damn fine.

Of course it was Dean that started the food fight, throwing pieces of buttered bread at Sam when no one was watching.

His brother scowled good naturedly and threw them right back with unerring accuracy, landing in Dean's hair, butter-side down of course.

"Boys.." John growled a warning which was cut off by a full slice of bread thrown by Pastor Jim. The bread slid off his cheek leaving a slimy trail of butter and John just sat there chewing on his lip.

Sam and Dean watched with mild interest as their father picked up the wayward bread slice and hefted it in his hand thoughtfully. Ever so slowly, and with great showmanship, John raised his head to stare straight at the Pastor, announcing matter-of-factly "You are so gonna pay for that" and launched the bread at Jim who immediately ducked, only to be hit with another John took from his own plate.

The boys couldn't stop laughing as their Dad and Jim became a blur of arms, bread and butter, whilst Bobby just stared at them in utter disbelief.

_What in hell is this? Kindergarten?_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

By the time they got the place cleaned up Sam was smothering a yawn and fighting to stay awake. A glass of water appeared in front of him along with his medication: muscle relaxants and pain relievers. He smiled gratefully at his brother, red eyes ringed with tired circles.

"Come on kiddo, why don't you get some rest huh? Ya look beat." Dean had his concerned face back on and Sam hated that he caused his brother so much worry.

Sam nodded and struggled to his feet, Dean passing him the crutches and grasping his arm when he swayed slightly from exhaustion. "Let me do all the work Sammy."

Dean helped Sam up the stairs to their shared bedroom and got him settled for the night, tucking the covers round him even as the kid fought to stay awake a while longer.

"Hey Dean."

"Uhuh?"

Sam blinked tiredly. "Never thanked ya…"

Dean frowned. "What the hell for?"

"Com…coming ta get me. Knew ya would." And Sam was asleep, snoring lightly.

"You're welcome buddy," Dean replied softly and turned off the lamp.

It was to be Sam's first nightmare free sleep in ages, not that he wouldn't have bad dreams in the future but Dean and John took it as a good sign that he was finally on the mend.

But Xavier Romanov would always cast a long shadow, hovering in the back of Sam's mind, and nine years on he would be confronted by the very same question, but this time aimed at himself:

_Could he be saved?_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

Not the best of endings I know but I was getting pretty tired by this point. This point being 4.30 in the morning and being badgered by the blasted Accident and Emergency department. AGAIN!

Hope you enjoyed it and it didn't get too boring.

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	5. More Than A Feeling

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times when Dean unintentionally hurt his brother**_

_**Story 5**_

_Dean 26, Sam 22._

**More Than A Feeling**

_**A hunt gone bad and a terrible curse:**_

_**Dean is Sam's only hope. So what happens when Sam's frustration causes already frayed tempers to snap?**_

_**Set early Season One.**_

_**(For Ritu, in thanks for her kind and wonderful message. **_

_**I'd send a PM to thank you in "person" but you haven't logged on to the site. **_

_**Please do so that I may in future.)**_

_**Warning/disclaimer: NAKED SAM. But just so we're clear on this NOT WINCEST. Just Dean being the caring big brother and doing what's necessary. For a while at least.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Ok, bath time Sammy. You're startin' ta stink." Dean leaned against the bathroom doorjamb, grinning from ear to ear. Sam would have rolled his eyes but it was too much effort.

"Don't blame me Dean. You're the one calling the shots here." His mouth twisted in a humourless smirk, clearly not finding it very funny. "Pretty much nothin' I can do about it." He _had_ to add "and it's Sam!"

Sam lay helplessly on the furthest bed from the door, arms by his sides, just as he had for most of the last few days. He blinked up at the ceiling, the only real view he had and it was getting pretty boring.

The grin faded from Dean's face. "I know." Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighed. "It's only for a few more days; it'll wear off before ya know it."

Taking care of a temporarily paralysed little brother was no picnic but it sure provided great ammunition for gratuitous abuse. Or it would have if the complications hadn't been so dire.

His gaze narrowed when he noticed Sam's face suddenly scrunch up in pain. "Sammy?"

"Pins and needles," Sam ground out through clenched teeth. "Spreading to my chest this time… _hurts_."

Dean crossed the room in two long strides and hurriedly grabbed something from the nightstand. "Ok kiddo, Bobby said this would happen. Just relax and let me do all the work." _Not that he's got much choice!_

Sliding an arm under Sam's back he gently dragged his brother into a sitting position. Sam's head flopped forward, hair spilling over his face, and he moaned deeply at the discomfort. Dean nearly panicked when Sam's breathing became laboured and pushed and pulled him until Sam was lying in his arms, staring up into his face.

"Here ya go Sam, let all the air outta ya lungs then breathe deep when I tell ya, ok? Can ya do that?"

"Y…yeah," Sam whispered breathlessly, and Dean placed what appeared to be a small dark grey inhaler to his lips, gently forcing it into his mouth, forefinger resting over the tiny gas cylinder.

"Ok…"

Dean heard Sam expel all the air, then with a final warning nod he pressed downwards, relief flooding him when his brother successfully pulled in a full breath, taking it all in.

"That's it Sammy," Dean rubbed Sam's stomach soothingly as his brother began to settle down. "Won't be long now. This is a good sign don't forget."

"You wouldn't be sayin' that if _your_ lungs where cramping up and trying to escape." Sam wheezed out and Dean felt his grin re-emerging. He was just relieved that Sam could speak at all. When the kid first got zapped he couldn't talk or swallow, which made finding out what he'd been zapped _with_ particularly difficult, not to mention providing Sam with water and food a damn near impossible task. His brother had spent the better half of the first day in the recovery position, just so he could breathe properly. But there was progress, and on the second day Dean was feeding him soup like a baby. His eyes had began to move sluggishly, following Dean around the room like a lifeline and before long he'd got his voice back.

Then the cramps started. Painful stomach cramps, and pins and needles, as the spell deteriorated and Sam really thought he was going to die.

Dean had placed a desperate call to their old family friend Bobby Singer, who'd recommended herbal muscle relaxants and pain meds in gaseous form to ease the pain as the curse continued to wear off. He'd warned them the kid's lungs might be affected; which was why the herbs had to be administered via an inhaler.

And that was all they could do for him.

Just sit back and wait.

Dean slowly and carefully began removing Sam's clothes, keeping any smart-assed comments to himself. This part was embarrassing enough but it had to be lots worse for Sam, and Dean was determined to make this as easy as possible for the both of them.

Not that he wouldn't give his little brother hell about it at a later date once things had calmed down. But witch's curse or not, right now this was pretty terrifying, with Sam completely dependent on his older brother and that didn't sit well with him.

Once Sam was naked Dean covered him over with a blanket to preserve what was left of the poor kid's dignity, then went to check on the water temperature. Sam might have been getting some sensation back with the brief bouts of pins and needles, but he still couldn't tell the difference between hot and cold, as he found out the hard way the first time they tried it. Sam hadn't felt a thing but it still made Dean wince at the large blisters that developed on the base of Sam's spine. Those were even now covered in a waterproof dressing and healing nicely.

Guilt still ate at Dean over that; he should have known better. He'd virtually raised Sam after all, and had plenty of experience in bathing a baby Sammy; checking the bath water temperature should have been instinct.

But this time he checked and rechecked, and instead of lowering Sam into the bath he sat him on the edge and carefully swung his legs over. Sam lay limply back against Dean's chest, the back of his head hanging off his brother's shoulder, face crimson with shame, as Dean gently wiped a wash cloth and soap over his skin, cleansing away the sweat and grime. It amazed both brothers how Sam hadn't moved a muscle on his own in several days yet his body carried on regardless; still needing food, water, and sleep – lots of sleep. Apparently, lying around a motel room doing nothing could be pretty exhausting.

"You want me to wash your hair for ya kiddo?" Dean muttered as he poured a cupped handful of water over Sam's chest.

Sam cleared his throat. "Yes please." He whispered and closed his eyes, cheeks still aflame with embarrassment.

Dean sighed. "It's ok ya know. You got nothing I aint seen before. Used to do this all the time when you were a kid. Remember that stupid yellow rubber duck?"

Sam managed a small smile though it took some effort. He was just so _tired. _ "Squirt the Duck? Oh yeah, he was cool. My first ever gun, even if the ammunition _was_ only water."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah ya little shit! I gotta face full every time!" He gently slid his brother fully into the tub, supporting his neck and tilting his head back, then began to pour water carefully over his scalp, stopping to wipe away any drops that threatened to roll into Sam's eyes. "Whatever happened to Squirt anyhow?" He reached for the shampoo.

Sam went silent for a moment, his mouth pulled into a thin line.

"Sam?" Massaging the gel into Sam's scalp, Dean paused worriedly.

"Dad left him behind in the motel on my sixth birthday remember? Said I was too old for that crap and I needed to grow up." Sam's voice was neutral, but Dean heard the subtle undertones of anger and understood that there was more to this than the loss of a favourite childhood toy.

_Oookkkkaaayyy_ _time to change the subject. _

But the thread was lost and the brothers stayed quiet as Dean sluiced water through Sam's hair, once again protecting Sam's eyes from the shampoo suds. Another lather and rinse cycle later and Dean applied the conditioner. Normally he smirked at the sheer girliness and made fun of Sam's long hair but now wasn't the time; Sam clearly still harboured a grudge about his childhood and the way their Dad raised them; there was no point in getting into that now. It would only lead to an argument.

"Ok we're done here." Dean reached down, slipping his arms under Sam's and lifting him up, bath water cascading down his body. He soon had his brother wrapped in a towel and was drying him off vigorously, not wanting to linger too long in case Sam caught a chill on top of everything else. His brother's skin was covered in goose bumps but Sam showed no other sign of feeling the cold.

Carrying him back to the room and lowering Sam to the bed, Dean started dressing the kid in fresh boxers and a T-shirt, then added a pair of soft dark green sweats.

"Top or under?" He enquired, one eyebrow raised.

"Uh...on top for now." Sam grinned a little at the implied smut. It was stupid but he just felt better laying on top of the covers rather than underneath, as though it lent him greater freedom from his prison of flesh and bone.

"How's the chest? Any sign of the cramps comin' back?" Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed, running a hand through his brother's damp curls.

"Nah, not yet at least." Sam closed his eyes, relaxing into his brother's comforting and familiar touch, glad he could now feel it. Unlike when he was first taken down by the curse, when his legs buckled beneath him and he fell, unable to stop himself. Dean had leapt forward, deftly catching him before his head connected with the ground. Cradled in arms he couldn't feel, muscles completely slack and unresponsive, his only form of communication had been his eyes, wide, panicked and pleading as he gasped and struggled for breath.

He couldn't remember the last time he and his brother had been this close and he was just starting to realise how much he missed it. He knew that most other families wouldn't think it normal, but the Winchester's _weren't_ normal and Dean had been more like a father than a brother to him growing up so in Sam's mind it was perfectly normal for a 'father' to offer physical comfort to his 'child'. And Dean had done exactly that for as long as Sam could remember, holding him through the nightmares, or hugging him whenever he scraped his knees, right up until he hit puberty and all bets were off. At this point it became firmly established that men didn't hug, and old protocol was replaced with manly slaps on the back or lightly ruffled hair.

"Dean?" Sam called when he felt his brother get to his feet, hand leaving Sam's head with a gentle pat.

"Yeah Sammy."

"I...I missed you. When I left I mean." Sam bit his lip and waited for the inevitable snarky reply. He was in for a surprise.

"Me too kiddo." Dean answered quietly and Sam opened his eyes.

"Never meant for us to lose touch. I just...." Sam sighed lightly. "I guess I assumed you were on Dad's side about the whole Stanford thing 'cos you never said a word to me that night. I'm sorry I misjudged you."

"You didn't." Sam's gaze darted to his brother at the sharp tone. Dean was staring right at him, jaw clenched. "And I was."

Sam blinked. "What?" He really hadn't seen this coming. Dean hadn't come out and said it but since Jess's death and Sam joined his brother on the road, Sam had gotten the impression that Dean had secretly backed him up in his decision to go to college.

"Don't get me wrong Sam." Dean ran a frustrated hand through his spiky hair. "I was proud of ya for getting accepted but I didn't want you to leave for the same reasons Dad didn't. The thought of you being alone out there at the mercy of whatever sick, evil, sonofbitch that crossed your path kept me awake at night."

"Dean I..."

"And what happened to Jess has proved my point." Dean finished bluntly. "If I hadn't stormed in there that night you would have died, Sam. Either burned to a crisp or by smoke inhalation. You wanna argue with that?"

Sam stared at his brother, anger and hurt building up into a fiery storm with nowhere to go....except out of his mouth.

"You arrogant, _hypocritical _sonofabitch!" Sam's breathing took off like a Tomcat from an aircraft carrier. "You _knew_ what I was planning to do. You _knew_ how Dad would react, but you said you were standing behind me all the way. What? You were _waiting_ for me to fail? _Wanted_ me to even?" He managed once large roar of anger "_I didn't realise that standing behind me meant holding a knife to my back!_" before he gave in to the pain, gasping and struggling to breathe as his diaphragm protested.

Dean was too wrapped up in his own suddenly snapping temper to notice Sam's distress, and was on his feet instantly. "I had to let you go! You were too damn fucking stubborn to see things our way _as usual_. You were gonna leave anyhow so what was the point?" He shook his head and slammed his hand into the wall above the bed. "You just don't get it!"

"D..De.." Sam mouthed, his pleas silent as he felt the cramps re-emerge.

Dean, not realising his predicament, barely looked at him and just headed for the door. "We need to cool off; spent too long in this damn room. Gonna get some lunch." And he was gone.

Sam, eyes wide and fearful as the cramps took a firm hold, tried to call out for help but only a desperate squeak escaped him as he slowly began to suffocate under the onslaught. Mouth gaping open as he desperately tried to draw in air, his eyes shifted across to the night stand.

He could just make out the small herbal inhaler, resting half on the edge of the cheap wood. It was disgusting, like the worse kind of cough mixture but he desperately needed it. If he could just move his arm enough...

Strained eyes travelled down to his left hand and Sam really wanted to tilt his head downwards. He really just wanted to _move anything right now!_ Sam grimaced and grunted as another fierce cramp hit him. He had no way of telling how long Dean had been gone but it felt like forever.

_Oh God!_ Sam didn't know how much more he could take.

Making a concerted effort, and pouring all his frustration and anger into his last chance, Sam desperately gathered what little was left of his strength...and rolled onto his side.

Already his breathing was a little easier and it boosted his confidence, but he still had a way to go. One more burst of energy had him flinging out his left hand, completely missing the inhaler, losing his balance and rolling right off the bed. He landed on his back with a bone jarring thud, knocking the wind out of him.

Sam was too weak to stop it, had no strength or coordination left to even attempt to re-position his neck in a life saving position if his muscles had even allowed it. It was like the curse had regained its damn power or something because the impact of hitting the floor wedged his tongue in his throat.

Sam's body didn't even jerk or arch upwards in need for air. Nothing happened and nothing moved.

Just absolute silence in the room.

Just Sam's eyes darting frantically back and forth as his body was slowly starved of oxygen.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

There were four people ahead of him in the queue. And not a one of them had apparently made up their damn minds what they were going to order. Dean cursed and swore under his breath, making a show of checking his watch. Often.

"Sorry." Dean smiled sadly, appearing suitably chastised by the stern glance from the little old lady in front of him in the queue when she turned at the harshly mutterred words. Apparently they hadn't been so soft. "My little brother's real sick and I don't like leaving him alone for too long. He's bedridden and can't look after himself."

Her wrinkled features softened and she nodded, gently pulling at his arm then reaching round him and pushing him forward with surprising strength in one so small. And one so _old_.

"You can go ahead of me dear. I know what it's like to look after the terminally ill. I used to be a nurse." She didn't notice Dean's mild flinch at the word 'terminal'. It was a little too close to home given what had happened, and he hadn't been exaggerating. Dean _was_ desperate to get back to Sam in spite of having needed a little space after their fight; if Sam suffered another attack of chest cramps in Dean's absence he wouldn't be able to help himself and neither brother knew what the consequences would be if it went untreated. Though Dean could guess and he was starting to wish he hadn't left.

"Are you sure? That's really nice of you, thanks." Dean's soft anxious smile was genuine. Ordinary civilians that showed such selflessness never failed to surprise him. He knew the human race wasn't necessarily evil as a whole, but people _were_ often incredibly selfish and single minded in Dean's experience, and as a result he didn't trust easy and he didn't trust often.

She grabbed his arm with a wizened hand and peered up at him, eyes squinting with old age. But she saw enough. "You're welcome sweetie. Just make sure you look after yourself as well. You're looking tired."

Dean stared down at her. "Yeah. I will don't worry." He answered softly.

But his anxiety was growing by the second and he couldn't figure out why. He'd popped out a few times over the course of the last few days to get food and energy drinks, but he was never gone for long. So why was this any different?

The queue moved up as someone left, and another customer stepped forward to place their takeout order. Dean resisted the urge to tap his foot as they ummed and ahhed their way down the menu. _If only this place delivered_.

But they didn't, and with Sam's growing strength Dean was pretty sure the kid was getting fed up with soup. Surely he could manage some Chinese by now? It was Sam's favourite and Dean's peace offering.

Dean wasn't necessarily sorry about what he'd said. What was the point? He couldn't take back what he felt was true, but he was sorry with the way it came out. He hadn't meant to sound derogatory or condescending about it, but Dean had been so scared for his brother when he left for college.

_He'd been watching the apartment when he saw the smoke and just knew Sam was in trouble. But what he'd found on bursting in after him..._

Sam could look after himself, Dean knew that, but since Jess's death the kid seemed so vulnerable, turned inward and silent. That wasn't the Sam he'd once known. And in a job where good communication was paramount for survival, that was dangerous.

Dean realised he'd finally given into his nerves when his foot started tapping without his consent. He checked his watch again. This was taking too long. Something inside was screaming at him to get back to his brother and an image of him arguing with Sam flashed across his mind, but his subconscious was finally showing him what he'd missed the first time round.

_Sam's face was pale as he struggled weakly..._

_D..De.._

Dean suddenly dropped the menu, leaving it on the floor where it fell, and shoved his way passed a crowd of teens that waited at the back, threw open the door and ran. He sprinted the three blocks to the motel, and didn't stop until he was frantically scrabbling at the motel room door lock with his key. He missed the lock several times before dropping the key, his hands were shaking so badly, but _finally_ Dean was violently kicking the door open and stumbling inside.

To be met with an empty room.

"Sam?" His eyes fell to Sam's bed, the covers rumpled but no sign of his brother.

Dean raced to the half open bathroom door, found it also empty, then spun round in a blind panic.

"Sam!" Taking deep breaths his vision cleared to reveal Sam lying on the floor between the beds, and Dean dropped down, one hand shaking his brother's shoulder. "Sam! How did ya get on the floor?"

Sam didn't respond, not even by opening his eyes, and as Dean stared intently at his face he noticed that Sam's lips were turning blue.

"Nononono. What the fuck happened? I was only gone half hour at most!" Trying to control his panic, Dean very quickly checked him over, relieved to find a pulse but not so relieved when it became apparent Sam wasn't breathing. "Shit! Ok Sam, this is going too damn far. First I had to get you naked, bathe you and now I'm _kissing_ you?" He growled even as he prepared his brother for the last resort. "You are _so_ gonna pay for this if the motel manager walks in on us. I swear one more gay comment..."

The final check, Sam's airway, was a revelation to Dean and one he wasn't all that happy about. With a bit of poking, prodding and tilting Sam's head he soon removed the obstruction and was somewhat surprised when it turned out to be Sam's own tongue. But Sam still wasn't breathing.

Dean pinched off his nose and lowered his mouth...

Resuscitation didn't take long however and after a few breaths Sam heaved in a huge gasp of air. Dean pulled Sam into his arms, floppy hair draped over his elbow, keeping his back raised up a little and his head tilted back. Sam's chest was rising and falling with ease and Dean was about to pass out.

"Oh Jesus Christ kiddo!" Dean spluttered in relief, pulling him up a little more until his chin rested on Sam's head. "What you tryin' ta do to me huh?"

They just stayed there for what seemed a long time, Dean unable to let go just yet, more than happy to hear the sounds of his little brother pulling oxygen into his lungs. But the longer Sam remained unconscious the more worried Dean felt, and he finally came to the decision to get the kid to a hospital when a shadow appeared in the motel doorway.

"Thought it best to drop by and check up on ya both, see if my suggestion worked." Bobby Singer stepped across the threshold without waiting for permission, and crouched down by the boys. "Clearly it didn't."

Dean shook his head miserably. "No, it worked fine. This isn't down to you Bobby, this is my fault."

Bobby slanted a determined look at the brothers, eyes moving between the two of them. "And how dya figure that kid? You _asked_ that witch to curse your brother? Don't be so darn stupid!"

"We had a fight and I left. The cramps had started in on his chest and I fucking _left him all alone._" Holding Sam closer, tighter, Dean began rocking him back and forth. "I swear I wasn't supposed to be gone so long. But when I got back he'd somehow fallen off the bed and choked on his own tongue. I don't know long he was without oxygen but I got him breathing again, and now he won't wake up."

Bobby shook his head in despair. As if the damn curse wasn't bad enough...

"Let's at least get 'im comfortable." Bobby reached out and hefted Sam's legs whilst he waited for Dean to slowly stand up, and between them they deposited the poor kid on his bed.

"I was gonna take him to the ER just in case." Dean leaned over his brother, palming Sam's jaw and supporting his head. At least that was the excuse if Bobby had asked, but secretly he was taking comfort in the strong pulse at Sam's neck.

"Maybe that's not such a bad idea but let's give him some time to wake up first. These curses usually get worse before they get better anyhow." Bobby reasoned, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "No point freakin' out the doctors with stories about witches and spells, 'cos there just aint any other way to explain his paralysis. You boys can't afford the wrong questions bein' asked if ya get my meanin'. And so long as the kid's breathin' on his own he's outta danger and chances are there's no brain damage."

Dean nodded and huffed out a relieved breath. He didn't particularly relish the idea of his brother being taken away from him whilst he paced the waiting room anxiously, long forgotten by the medical staff. The thought of seeing their faces as he explained how Sam came to be paralysed in the first place might have been amusing but he couldn't risk being locked away in a nut house. And besides, he just didn't look good in a straightjacket.

Dean watched their old family friend checking Sam's eyes with a penlight and waited nervously for his opinion.

Bobby stood up, cracking his back and rolling his neck. "Seems ok so far. But if he doesn't wake up in the next few hours..." He glanced over at Dean with a grim smile.

"And we may have to pull the old 'we just found him like this' line." Dean finished for him. "Yeah I get it."

There was no sign of physical trauma, at least not that would account for the paralysis, and there was the worry they might find something unexplainable that could excite some fame seeking scientist into having Sam sectioned for further investigation. And Dean was pretty sure his little brother would rather die than spend the rest of his life in captivity for the sake of scientific advancement.

No, their only option was to wait for Sam to wake up before assessing his condition.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean refused to move away from Sam's bed and even though Bobby pointedly pressed the TV remote into his hand, he still wouldn't stop watching his brother's face with an intensity that would've scared the kid silly had he been awake.

"Dean, ya gonna freak him out if he catches you starin' at him like that." Bobby sighed when there was no response, and dropped a hand to Dean's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I'm gonna get us some grub, probably from that Chinese place you tried earlier."

Dean jolted as if startled that someone else was still there. "Uh...yeah. Thanks Bobby." He stole a quick glance at the older man. "Thanks for everything, I mean. For being here. I was about ready to lose it when I found him lying there and not breathing." He turned back to Sam. "I've been scared for Sam's safety before but seeing him like that..."

Bobby let go of Dean's shoulder. "I know kid. I know."

As he left the room and headed on out to grab some food, Bobby inwardly cursed John Winchester. Dean had tried calling his father a while ago; leaving a message on voice mail, but so far there had been no response.

_Asshole's too damn busy chasin' down his wife's killer to be there for his kids. Serve 'im right if they never spoke t'im again!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean carried on watching and waiting, occasionally checking Sam's pulse and breathing, sometimes smoothing his hand through his hair. Again, any excuse for physical contact. And as usual he started thinking, and guilting, and blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong.

He shouldn't have brought Jess into it. That was the first thing that came to mind. It was cruel, unnecessary and a real cheap shot. Sam's anger had merely been a cover for his hurt and the reminder of his loss – another very typical Winchester trait: Don't cry, lash out.

Their father had taught them well.

"Sammy please wake up. Can't really apologise for bein' an ass if you're unconscious. I don't think it counts." Dean smiled shakily. "Just open your eyes for me kiddo. Let me know you're ok."

"_Hmmm?_"

Dean's smile widened. He couldn't believe it. The kid actually took him seriously? "Hey! You with me Sammy?"

"_It's Sam. And why's my throat feel like the bottom of a hen house?_" Sam's eyes slowly opened to find his brother sitting up close and personal, face inches from his own. "_Huh? Personal space mean nothin' to you dude?_" He croaked and gave a small cough, wincing a little at the pull on his chest.

"Had to sit this close to make sure you kept breathing dude." Dean reached over to the nightstand and produced a glass of water. "Here, can you move?"

Sam tensed and tried to sit up but nothing seemed to work. He tried wiggling his toes and was rewarded with slight movement, but more importantly _he could feel it._

Dean suppressed a sigh, cupped the back of Sam's neck, raising his head, and helped him sip some of the water. It appeared to instantly revive his sluggish brother and Sam seemed to relax, his voice less croaky.

"My toes. I can move them!" Sam grinned happily as though that was the most important thing in the world, and when he tried to curl his fingers his spirits soared with the same result. "Hey! Look at my fingers! Are they moving too? I can feel the bedcovers."

Swept up in Sam's enthusiasm Dean laughed. "Yep. Looks like the curse is wearing off kiddo. You're gonna be fine."

Sam found, to his ecstatic delight, that he could nod. "Yeah, it was wearing off a little after the first chest cramps, but then they started up again as you were leaving. But my first clue was when I managed to move and roll over to try and grab the inhaler." He bit his lip at that point, seemingly embarrassed. "I fell off the bed. Don't remember much after that."

His head moved as he turned it to look at Dean with sad eyes. "I'm sorry Dean. Didn't mean to pick a fight with ya."

Dean was staring at him oddly. "You've nothing to be sorry for. I said some things I shouldn't have...and then I left. Left when you needed me most." He gently grasped Sam's hand and squeezed, delighted when Sam managed to return it albeit a little weak. "I swear I was only getting us some food. Chinese actually. Thought you might prefer it to soup for once." A small smile appeared briefly but was soon replaced by fear, concern and something else..._love._

"When I came back...I couldn't find you at first. Then there you were, lying on the floor." Dean's grip increased almost painfully on Sam's hand. "You weren't breathing. At a guess when you fell, your tongue got stuck and blocked your windpipe. I had to resuscitate you. You've been unconscious for the last hour. If you'd stayed under any longer we'd have taken you to the ER."

Sam's head turned back and he eyeballed the ceiling. "God Dean. How did we get so messed up? How...wait. We?" Sam's head turned again, glancing round the room. "Is Dad here?"

Dean swallowed hard at that. "Nah. Bobby Singer. Remember? He gave us the recipe for the inhaler. Dad's...uh...I couldn't get hold of him. Bobby's out getting that Chinese I told you about."

Sam nodded, not entirely surprised at hearing of their father's elusiveness. He decided to ignore it. "Bobby got here fast."

"Apparently he hit the road right after my call. He was already on his way when I was mixing those damn shitty smelling herbs." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Sam smirked. "Least you didn't have to breathe them in. Thought I was gonna be sick man!"

"Huh." Dean let out a snort. "You're used to eatin' salads an' all that crap. Thought it was right up your alley, rabbitboy!"

"_Rabbitboy_!" Sam gaped at him then smirked again. "That the best you can come up with?"

An evil grin crept slowly over Dean's face as he magically produced a permanent marker pen from the dark recesses of his jacket. "Hmm. Now that you mention it..."

Sam's eyes widened as his brother advanced on him. "Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare! DEAN!!!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby juggled the takeout bags precariously as he reached for the door knob. He figured the boys would be pretty hungry by now, especially if Sam had woken up. And he prayed like hell for that.

On entering the room Bobby came to an abrupt halt and stared.

Dean was grinning smugly and Sam..._was awake_!

But someone, Dean presumably, had thought it necessary to draw on his brother's face: A large black handlebar moustache, little round John Lennon style glasses, and full pouty lips. The perpetrator had also taken the time to colour them in with a bright red, making Sam look...well...ridiculous was the first word that came to mind. But what made it even more amusing was the crossed arms and narrow eyed, sulky expression behind it, and that was definitely all Sam. Clearly his brother had taken merciless advantage of Sam's helpless state, and it surely had to herald the start of the famous Winchester prank wars.

"Sam." Bobby nodded to him and placed the bags on the table by the window, managing with some effort to avoid looking at Dean's face this time. That surely would have been Bobby's undoing. "Good to see you awake. How do you feel?" He kept his voice neutral, his face expressionless as he turned once again to look at the younger brother.

Sam's scowl had deepened and that was it. Bobby's face scrunched up as he let out a snort which he quickly tried to turn into a cough but it was just too damn hard to stop, and pretty soon he was spluttering and choking with laughter.

"It's not funny!" Sam barked out angrily, but it only served increase the volume as Dean joined in. "I mean it! I'm getting you back for this you lowlife sonofabitch!"

"Aw come on Sammy..."

"HE USED A FUCKING PERMANENT MARKER!"

Bobby started howling at this point, shaking his head and desperately trying to get his breath back.

Dean somehow managed to school his features into something close to serious and tried to soothe his brother's pride. "It'll soon wear off..." It didn't last long however. "...but we'll have to keep you away from gay clubs for a while!"

They carried on laughing.

Sam just carried on glaring. "You bastard!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**A few days later...**_

Sam sunk lower in his pillows and shook his head, obviously still sulking. "Nope."

"Come on Sammy. It's nearly worn off!"

"Nuhuh."

"It'll be fun and besides we'll get so drunk you won't even care!"

"Nu_huh _not going!"

Dean sighed. Sam had full motor function back but still refused to leave the motel room until the Dean's _special makeover_ had gone completely. They used everything from makeup remover to alcohol wipes - in the sense that Kleenex soaked in tequila could be considered as such. But the moustache, glasses and lips had survived even now, though they _had_ faded significantly.

"Ok. Don't wait up!" And Dean was gone, merrily whistling as he set off to the local bar. He had a good feeling about tonight and he just felt great in general. Bobby had headed off once Sam was back to normal and there was no sign of further complications, and Dean was just relieved his brother was going to be ok. Sam had even forgiven him for the marker pen prank, though if Dean had been really thinking about it, he might have been suspicious about that.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam grinned evilly as he switched channels, settling on a Friends marathon. His brother would never have let him live it down but he always found some sort of comfort in watching the older episodes.

Sipping on a beer and relaxing on the bed, he silently thanked Bobby Singer. For more reasons than Dean knew.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was pressed up against the alley wall at the back of the bar, the hot young blond content with filling his mouth with her tongue. His hands moved lower until he was cupping her pert little ass, and he moaned softly with pure unadulerated _pleasure_. Slowly, so slowly raising the hem of her short _so short_ skirt and feeling the edge of lace panties, Dean was in pre-orgasmic heaven.

"You wanna kick this up a gear?" She hummed softly against his mouth, hands travelling lower when he nodded _yes, oh God yes!_

But something was wrong. His downstairs brain didn't seem to be on the same page...

Hands cupped his crotch, kneading, massaging....and just stopped.

"Uh...you _sure_ 'bout this handsome?" She moved away, crossing her arms and eyeing him up and down with distain. "'Cos I mean, you don't seem too..._excited_. If you catch my drift."

Dean blinked then stared down at his crotch, his face reddening.

"I...I...I..." He grinned at her sheepishly.

She sighed, readjusted her clothing then sauntered back towards the bar with a smooth sway of the hips. "Call me when you getcha mojo back hon!" A quick, _bored_ wave, and she was gone.

Dean was still standing there in the back alley wondering what the hell just happened, when a sneaky suspicion stole over him. Eyes narrowed slowly, a smooth turn and he was stalking back to the motel room, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The door opened abruptly and slammed shut. Sam didn't even flinch. Just raised his beer to his lips, eyes still on the TV screen as Monica slapped Ross for trying to sneak a taste of the Thanksgiving dinner. When Ross stormed out petulantly, Sam was reminded of someone..

"Had fun tonight Dean?" He asked casually, resisting the urge to grin. In his peripheral vision, his brother was standing by his bed, and menace simply oozed from his very pores. Sam could virtually _smell_ it.

"You didn't!" Came the angry growl.

"What?" Sam was blinking up at him innocently but Dean wasn't fooled. Oh no. He'd _trained_ his little brother, bathed him, fed him, pranked him...and Dean felt a reluctant sense of admiration rising in his blood.

_The force is strong in this one._

"What was it?" Dean slumped down on his bed dejectedly. "And how long's it gonna last?"

Sam sniffed, took another slow sip of beer and raised an eyebrow. "An herbal _an_aphrodisiac. In your coffee this afternoon."

Dean nodded slowly, but Sam still hadn't answered the last question. "How _long?_" He desperately needed to know because right now he was starting to understand how a neutered dog felt. And his manhood was taking a real pounding.

Sam let the grin grow until dimples formed on his cheeks and he turned to face his brother.

"Now that would be telling."

Dean glared at him. "You bastard!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

Well, here it is. I'm a bit nervous about this one 'cos I just know that people are gonna complain that I didn't elaborate on the hunt with the witch too much, or how it got resolved, or a little more involvement from Bobby (who didn't even appear 'til towards the end of season 1 anyhow). I just didn't want to get into that so please forgive me. I wanted to keep the focus on the boys. This was another hastily put together piece in my lunch and tea breaks whilst compiling two other multichapter stories, so please go easy on your reviews. I know it aint perfect. Just want to know if you enjoyed it.

By the way, whoever it was that nominated my fic The Pantomime Horse for an award, many thanks sweetheart, but I can't see it winning 'cos it was posted in the wrong category: it should have gone under humour but I think it ended up under Dude Where's My Car? Or something like that. But I really do appreciate the support. (Blows kisses). Really made me feel good 'cos noones ever done that for me before.

As always, love all your reviews and hope I've managed to get back to you all at some point. My apologies if I haven't.

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	6. What Happened Next

**I Didn't Mean It**

_Times Dean unintentionally hurt his brother._

_Set after Asylum, season 1._

_**Story 6.**_

**What Happened Next**

_**Sam wasn't quite the same after the events at Roosevelt**_

_**and Dean was taking his sweet time about noticing.**_

Dedicated to Hotshow, who specifically asked for this. Hope you like it mate.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

His head ached.

No, not just ached, _grated_.

He heard the snap of the newspaper and winced. He winced because the noise hurt his head _and_ because Dean's abuse of the _Daily Chronicle_ was clear evidence he hadn't forgiven him. Maybe never would.

Sam leaned back against his pillow and sighed quietly. At least Dean hadn't turned the TV on this time, preferring the peace and quiet of reading the local news rag. Another snap as Dean turned a page and straightened the paper, putting his feet up on the motel room's ratty old table.

This was unusual behaviour for his brother. Dean was the type to talk loudly in a public library simply because the silence made him uncomfortable, unless of course they were there on an info gathering expedition. In which case, out came the famous Dean Winchester charm and the sweet little old librarian would practically drop her half-mooned spectacles in a rush to try and please him. Probably along with her panties if asked.

Whilst Sam's puppy dog eyes brought out the mother figures in full swing, his older brother elicited the _other_ kind of response.

His mind wondered back to the asylum again. It had been three days since Sam nearly killed his brother; shot him in the chest with rock salt then turned Dean's own gun on him. The ultimate insult. Or would have been if the damn thing had been loaded.

Guilt was gnawing away at him again. Sam had apologised time and again, told Dean he hadn't meant a single cruel word of it, but it was obvious his brother didn't believe him. And in a way Sam understood. What he'd done was a terrible betrayal of everything Dean stood for in life; the sacrifices he'd made, all he'd lost, the lives he'd saved. But most of all everything he'd ever done for Sam.

Dean could feel his brother watching him from across the room and ignored him. He wasn't in the mood to talk or listen to Sam's endless apologies. There was no point to it. It didn't _mean_ anything and it certainly didn't change what happened.

What appalled Dean the most was the blatant lie that left Sam's mouth; standing outside the rotten, fetid, hated asylum, Sam's guilt-flushed face silently begging for an absolution Dean wasn't ready to give.

_I didn't mean any of it_.

Dean nearly snorted to himself. _Yeah, 'course ya didn't._

At least Sam had dropped the subject for now and that was a relief even if the awkward silence left in its wake was stifling. Dean could live with that, even if Sam couldn't.

_Tough shit little bro. Deal with it._

Sam knew he was brooding and it was doing no good whatsoever. Dean wasn't about to break down and accept his apology anytime soon. His eyes watered a little when that thought sank home, and wondered how the hell he could fix this.

_It can't be fixed. I can't take back what I said._

Sam turned on his side, back to his brother, allowing a silent tear to slide down his face and drip onto his pillow. He hadn't cried much in the months since Jess went up in flames and even then it was usually in the privacy of the bathroom. And his girl had meant the world to him. Still carried the engagement ring in his wallet, never worn, never used, _never offered_. And it would always remain there.

_Never had the chance._

But something else warm and liquid spilled on to his top lip. Sam absentmindedly stuck out his tongue to wipe it away, then froze when he recognised the taste.

Blood.

Sitting up slowly, Sam wiped his sleeve over his mouth and stared at the red stain left behind.

And it wasn't just a dribble either. Not this time.

Up until now it hadn't been too bad, the odd smudge here and a trickle there. But this was different. Not wanting to disturb his brother but also dreading Dean's reaction, Sam called out tentatively over his shoulder.

"Uh, Dean?"

"What?" the sharp reply made the pounding in Sam's head intensify.

"Could you maybe pass me the Kleenex?"

"Where is it?"

Sam was trying not to panic as the blood flow increased. "On the table right next to you."

The box came sailing across the room and hit Sam lightly on the back of the head. Sam gasped quietly as pain spiked through his skull and he clutched at his head. Dean hadn't even looked up from the newspaper.

Reaching for the box of Kleenex he pulled one out and pressed it to his nose; keeping his head and body turned away from Dean he casually got up and headed for the bathroom, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

Leaning over the sink he watched fearfully as droplets of blood splattered on the grimy surface. Something was really wrong and Sam had no idea what to do. Given Dean's attitude towards him of late, asking for help seemed a bad idea and would only serve to remind his brother of Sam's heinous crimes. Not that he needed another reminder; Sam was alive and right under his nose. That was surely reminder enough, rubbing Dean's nose in it every time he looked at him.

Sam jumped at the sudden loud pounding on the door.

"I'm gonna get some breakfast. You want anything?"

Sam smiled shakily. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Dean was still thinking of him, looking after him. "Uh…no thanks. Not really hungry." It was hard to imagine eating anything when his nose was turning the sink red.

A slight pause. "Suit yaself. Back in a few." Footsteps headed away from the bathroom. Sam heard the motel room door swing open and shut.

Heart sinking, Sam closed his eyes against the pain. So things _weren't_ any better; Dean's concern for his eating habits since Jess died usually involved nagging and bullying, followed by physical threats if he didn't sit down and refuel. But it wasn't happening here. Sam felt as though he'd turned the page of a book only to find the pages stuck together and the story become confusing a mess.

He was losing him…correction; he'd already done that when he tore Dean's heart right out of his chest in the basement at Roosevelt.

Sam stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror; felt disgust and self-loathing threaten to rise up and drown him. But at least the bleeding had slowed.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dumping his take out bag on the table along with his keys, Dean turned and noticed Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling absently with the TV remote. The volume was turned right down, the screen a blur as Sam flicked through the channels, blinking rapidly.

Dean watched him from the corner of his eye. The kid looked pale, not really paying attention to what he was doing and Dean wondered if Sam even knew he was back.

_As usual too deep in thought in that freaky head of his._

No doubt Sam's guilt complex was keeping him awake at night, which accounted for the stark white complexion and dark circles under his eyes. Dean still wasn't ready to forgive but that didn't stop him worrying, and he threw a wrapped sandwich onto Sam's bed.

"Eat up. We're leaving. Got a hunt up North."

Sam turned when he felt something land next to him and his eyes focussed in on the breakfast sandwich. Finally waking up from wherever his mind had been playing, Sam tentatively picked up the food and began to tear off the packaging with a shaky hand. He really wasn't hungry, but there was no point in arguing when Dean had made up his mind.

"Thanks." He muttered but Dean ignored him, settled on his own bed and bit into a hash brown smothered in ketchup.

Chewing slowly and trying not to vomit, Sam kept his head down and stayed quiet. That was all Dean seemed to require of him and Sam could at least do that for his brother.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

They made a few brief stops along the way, to fill up or use the restroom, so Sam was able to swallow the Tylenol without being seen and subjected to awkward questions. His headache was getting worse, the nose bleeds becoming more frequent and it seriously was a wonder that Dean hadn't noticed. But then his brother barely looked at him these days, and Sam kept his head turned and pressed against the passenger window during most of the journey, Kleenex hidden in his hand should the inevitable occur. It didn't. At least not the big ones; there were a few minor nosebleeds in the car but those were easy to cover up. It was usually when the boys had taken a break from the road and Sam quickly excused himself to go use the nearest rest room that the big ones hit. Probably brought on by the sudden movement after so much time spent cooped up in one position.

Dean would give him an odd look from time to time but that was all. In truth Sam hadn't even asked about the next hunt, preferring to stay quiet and off Dean's radar.

Sam felt completely miserable but carried on under the growing weight of depression.

Ok Sam was being weird, spending longer and longer in the rest room each time they stopped. Was the kid getting sick? He didn't look all that great, if anything seemed even paler than when they left the last motel. Dean's growing concern peaked when Sam swayed slightly on his feet letting the rest room door bang shut behind him, and thought maybe it was time to let go of his anger. He'd punished Sam enough and nothing could be gained if his brother's guilt made him sick. But it was hard. He knew what was needed but finding the strength within...that was another matter.

He felt Sam shift and turned to stare at him when he pulled off the road. It hadn't been long since the last stop, only about a half hour, but Dean was determined Sam was going to eat something before finally extending an olive branch.

"Food." Was all Dean had to say when Sam stared at him in amazement then promptly slid from the car. Slowly opening his own door, Sam unsteadily climbed to his feet and trudged after him, the smell of food wafting from the direction of the diner making his stomach churn. He checked his nose. Good. No blood. He could get away with this for a while longer but Dean was soon going to catch on and Sam was trying to put off that dreaded moment as long as possible.

But as they sat in silence in their booth Sam had a feeling he couldn't keep up the pretence.

"What can I get you boys?" The friendly waitress held her pen and pad at the ready.

"Cheese burger with extra onions and fries." Dean smiled up at her and winked.

She turned to Sam. "What 'bout you hon? Same?"

Sam's stomach threatened to rebel and he shook his head. "Just coffee for me thanks. Not hungry…"

"My brother here'll have a chicken salad sandwich and glass of milk. No coffee." Dean broke in still smiling at the woman, who returned his wink with a sexy grin of her own and made her way back to the counter.

Sam was flabbergasted. "Dean," he hissed, finally feeling something other than guilt for the first time in days. "What the hell was that?"

Dean just stared right at him, face expressionless. "You're eating. Get over it."

"I can make my own decisions…" Sam fumed back but didn't get very far.

"Ya look like shit Sam." Dean coldly informed him. "Can't have you passing out on me in the middle of a hunt. You'll get us both killed." He wished he could take it back when Sam clenched his jaw and looked away from him, glaring out the window.

"Fine." Sam's short blunt answer said so much more but that put an end to the conversation.

That was until…

"Woah hey! What the hell…?" Dean was out of his seat and at Sam's side immediately he spotted the blood suddenly dripping from Sam's nose.

Sam touched a hand to his face in surprise. "It's ok; it's not as heavy as it was this morning."

"What do you mean by that?" Dean grabbed his hand, pulling it away from Sam's face and stared at the blood. "You mean this has happened before?"

Sam nodded but could almost feel Dean's anger building and he still couldn't look him in the eye.

"How long?" Low and threatening, his older brother's tone brooked no argument, just daring him to lie.

Sam swallowed nervously, dabbing at his nose with the edge of his shirt. "Uh…since Roosevelt."

"Jesus Christ!" Dean abruptly stood and loomed over his kid brother. "When were ya gonna tell me huh?" His voice rose in volume and several people glanced up from their meals, muttering about the lunatic yelling at someone in his booth.

"Well Sam?"

Sam glanced up worriedly. "It's no big deal."

"Yeah right, 'cos bleeding from the nose on a regular basis is_ perfectly normal_!" Came Dean's sarcastic yell. He glowered at Sam, fighting the urge to knock some sense into him. "I'm gonna go get a napkin before you bleed all over the damn table. But you sit here and you don't move or I swear to God there'll be hell to pay!"

Sam's eyes anxiously followed his brother across to the counter and watched as Dean flirted with the waitress again. His depression deepened when Dean threw him a filthy look and he dropped his gaze, staring at his own blood on the table. A sharp bolt of pain speared his head and Sam gasped loudly, his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

"Y'alright man?"

He hadn't realised his eyes were closed, so caught up in the agony pounding its way through his skull, but when he opened them a young guy around Dean's age was crouched by his seat, genuine concern in his brown eyes.

Sam tried to speak but the pain was taking too much from him and he could feel the blood flow increase, dribbling over his chin and saturating his shirt. Vision narrowing and blackening round the edges, Sam heard the stranger talking to him, trying to get him to stay awake but the blackness was too busy swallowing him whole.

"Hey come on buddy stay with me…_someone call 911!_"

Sam's head fell back against his seat with a dull thud when he lost consciousness.

Dean turned to make his way back to Sam, a handful of napkins at the ready. He was still angry as hell but worry was now a huge part of it. He couldn't believe Sam had kept this from him; had hoped his brother trusted him by now, but Dean had to face the sad truth of the matter. There were too many issues between them and there was no way he could fix it.

To his alarm there was quite a crowd in front of him gathered round their booth and pushed his way through, elbowing people aside, until he saw some guy with his hand on Sam's neck. He could hear people talking and muttering but he barely paid any attention.

"_Is he ok?"_

"_Is he breathing?"_

"_Yeah he's still breathing…"_

"_Ambulance is on its way….jeeze…he looks real bad…"_

Sam was slumped in his seat, head draped over the seat back, desperately pale except for the blood that spilled from his nose.

"Get your damn hands off my brother!" Dean roared, temper spiked at the sight of some stranger touching Sam when he was vulnerable. His little brother had obviously passed out and no one was getting near him without Dean's say so.

The guy stood and held up his hands, palms outwards. "I don't mean any harm, just trying to help. Your brother's in pain and his pulse is a little fast."

Dean nodded, feeling guilty for jumping down the man's throat. "Yeah he's not been well these last couple days." He knelt down by Sam's seat and gently pulled him into his arms, keeping his voice soft and low. "Hey Sammy? Come on kid wake up."

Worryingly the youngster didn't stir, not one bit and Dean tapped his face gently. "You're putting on quite the show here, you trying to get us on TV or somethin'?" His smile, shaky to start with began to fade when Sam still didn't respond. "Sam please…"

Someone called out "Ambulance is here. They didn't take long."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The two EMTs stormed into the diner carrying a collapsible gurney and headed straight over to the group, already cataloguing their new patient's condition as the crowd began to disperse, revealing a kid in his early twenties unconscious and bleeding in some guy's arms.

That guy turned out to be his brother, who was fiercely protective and wouldn't let go of the boy until Kelly threatened to perform something deeply personal with her stethoscope. Michael looked across at his colleague and managed to cover up a smile. The older brother had blinked in surprise at being ordered around by the tiny woman but did as he was told, never moving too far away.

"What's your brother's name son?" Michael began to check the boy's breathing as he spoke.

"Sam, I'm Dean." Came the anxious reply.

"How long's he been unconscious Dean?" Kelly was wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Sam's left upper arm, all anger left behind.

"Uh…a few minutes. But he just told me he'd been having nosebleeds over the last few days." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "And he's not been eating properly either."

Kelly nodded, not talking her eyes off the readout. "BP's too high and sats are low. He's gonna need help Mike."

"Ok, let's bag 'im." Sam was quickly transferred to the gurney. Michael pulled a length of tubing from his kit, ripped off the sterile packaging and fixed it up to a small ambu bag. Gently forcing Sam's mouth open, he threaded the other end of the tube down his patient's throat and once satisfied it was correctly in place, he began to secure the tube firmly to Sam's face.

"What's that for? What are you doing to him?" Dean was watching the proceedings anxiously, and Michael could hear the panic in his voice.

Without looking up from rhythmically squeezing the ambu bag, he spoke in a calm tone, keeping his voice level and unconcerned. "Your brother needs oxygen and he can't do it by himself. We're just giving him a helping hand for now. Kelly? You ready?"

Kelly finished inserting a needle into Sam's arm and setting up the IV. "I am now. Let's go."

They let the supporting legs of the gurney drop down and wheeled the kid from the diner, Dean staying alongside and grasping his brother's hand. Sam gave no sign that he was aware of anything around him, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest each time Michael squeezed on the bag.

Kelly watched the older brother out the corner of her eye as they began to load their patient into the ambulance, and felt her heart break a little when he blinked back tears and whispered encouragement.

"Everything's gonna be ok Sammy. Just stay strong for me."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Everything was not ok, not at all. Dean had been waiting in the consultant's office for hours when Dr Brett finally arrived. The doc looked tired and dejected from his long shift and Dean could already tell the news wasn't good.

"I'm sorry it took so long. We had a lot of ground to cover."

"And?" Dean shrugged off the apology with little interest. He didn't care. They were doing their job and he couldn't rush them.

Andy Brett took a deep breath. "I'm afraid your brother has suffered a major intracerebral haemorrhage." He paused to register the shock on Dean's face. "We think it was a weakened section of a blood vessel that burst, possibly brought on by some kind of trauma. It started out as a small leak but got worse the longer it went untreated. It's a little tricky to decide exactly what happened and when, and frankly I've not seen a case quite like it. His EEG is…strange and the nose bleeds…I can't understand their significance."

_I can_ Dean thought privately. This was down to Ellicot. Dean had a bitch of a headache after the ghost attacked him but Sam had been exposed to the full dose, not to mention the tussle they'd had in the basement. Sam's nose had been bleeding back then, during his psychotic rant. _I shoulda known. Christ! Sam's been slowly dying right in front of me ever since we left that place and I did nothing!_

Coughing gently to get Dean's attention the doc asked "Has your brother been under any severe stress lately?"

Dean straightened in his seat. "Yeah…why?" He wasn't going to elaborate on Sam's life thus far and he most certainly wasn't going to bring up the incident with Ellicot. But equally any troubles the brothers were having stayed between them. It was no one else's business.

Dr Brett looked concerned but answered the question. "Stress would have raised his blood pressure and contributed to the bleed, probably made matters worse."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face and the room began to spin. "Oh God…"

Dean had known something was wrong. He'd made his little brother's life a damn misery the last few days, and that misery made him _sick_. Dean refused to talk to him, refused the forgiveness Sam desperately needed and ultimately left Sam out in the cold and feeling like shit.

A hand on his arm steadied him. "Easy there." Dr Brett guided him back into his chair.

Shaking his head and blinking away the darkness Dean nodded. "I'm ok. What about Sam? Is he going to be alright?"

The doc was looking at him with a sadness that terrified him.

"Nope, nuhuh. Not gonna happen." Dean was shaking his head determinedly. "He's gonna get better, he'll be fine."

"Dean…"

"Forget it. Sam's a stubborn little shit." Dean got up and paced. "You'll see. Once he wakes up he'll be whining like a girl, complaining about the food and..."

Dr Brett rose and stood in front of him, halting his movements. He kept his voice low and quiet out of respect. "I'm sorry, but your brother is dying, and there's nothing we can do." He hated this part of the job, wondered if he was even cut out for this life anymore. "Even if he were to survive, the brain damage is pretty extensive not to mention he's paralysed down his right side."

Green eyes drilled into the doctor, hard and relentless, and Brett could see the anger simmering away inside. The doc stepped back in sad resignation and reached for the door.

"Follow me if you want to see him…" He didn't finish with _for the last time_ but he thought it and he knew Dean could see it on his face. Letting out a deep breath when the guy said absolutely nothing and brushed passed out into the hallway, Dr Brett shut his office door, resigned to another long night of heartache.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"I'm supposed to be saying my goodbyes." Dean whispered, blinking back tears.. "The doc says you aint waking up. But we know different right?" He sniffed miserably. "Huh Sam?"

Sam's heart monitor just bleeped at him in response.

A poor excuse for a smile, more sadness than anything else, was plastered on Dean's face as he stroked his brother's hair. His other hand held Sam's, the left one. Doc Brett said his right side wouldn't feel anything so by holding his left hand Dean was hoping the kid could feel him, know he was there.

"Pretty pathetic I guess but I'm real sorry little bro." Dean leaned over and pressed his forehead to Sam's, mindful of the vent. "I should've done something sooner. Knew you were getting sick but I had no idea…" He closed his eyes and stifled a sob. "Why didn't you tell me Sammy, about the nosebleeds? Was I really that much of bastard to you? Wait, don't answer that. I guess I already know." A shaky laugh. "I wasn't there was I? I just wasn't there for you, and you got lost that's all. But I'm here now Sammy, waiting for you. _Please come back_."

Resting his head next to Sam's, his brother cocooned in his loose embraced, Dean sighed and let his eyes slide shut, not realising he was being watched.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey Sam. I gotta go make a phone call but I'll be back real quick. Don't go anywhere." Dean was only half joking. He dreaded this, leaving Sam on his own even for just a few minutes, and the thought of coming back to find his brother had died on him in his absence nearly sent him to his knees. Squeezing the kid's lifeless hand gently Dean backed away still reluctant to take his eyes off him, until he reached the door, took a deep breath and stepped out.

He passed several nurses on his way and nodded to them without much interest, but one of them carried on staring after the older brother, eyes burning into Dean's back.

Dean slowed his pace and turned his body slightly to glance over his shoulder, an uneasiness setting in. Maybe he'd been on the road too long and he was getting paranoid…

The nurse smiled prettily at him and he returned it weakly with a slight nod, then left the ward and headed outside.

The smile faded to be replaced by a feral predatory scowl.

"At last. Thought he'd _never_ leave. Stubborn bastard." She muttered and hurried over to the younger boy's room. Taking a furtive glance round to make sure she wasn't being watched, she opened the door and slipped inside.

She turned, eyes burning and flickering a deep yellow. "They say that you're dying Sammy Winchester. That you're paralysed, brain damaged and useless, a pathetic waste of time and energy." She leaned over the boy, yellow eyes glowing bright with anger and frustration. "And I _really _can't have that…"

She glanced at the cardiac monitor screen, noting the steady decline of Sam's heart rate and glared with impatience. The kid was on the brink of death. "Oh no you don't. I haven't spent all this time and effort just for you to up and die on me. It doesn't work that way."

Raising a hand she laid it on the top of Sam's head and smiled as she went to work.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Damn voicemail. _Again_. That was all Dean ever got when he tried calling his father and he should have been used to it by now. Tears threatened as he leaned against the wall next to the hospital entrance. "Dad it's me." There was no easy way of saying it but Sam _was_ deteriorating fast. "Sammy's dying Dad. We need you right now, _Sam _needs you. Don't make the same mistake I did, don't shut him out. Not now. _Please not now._"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The damaged caused by the haemorrhage began to reverse up, as though someone had flipped a switch and turned back time. Blood vessels, once ruined, started growing and renewing; cell membranes realigned and gained definition; synapses began firing, weak and discordant signals at first but soon grew in strength and purpose.

Sam's body twitched and jerked, eyelids fluttered, saliva built up round his vent and the bleeping of the cardiac monitor picked up speed. The yellow eyed demon withdrew from the room, feeling true satisfaction at a job well done.

Sam whimpered in pain, fingers flexing and grasping at the blanket, choking on the vent.

And that was how Dean found him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy?" Eyes widening, Dean dropped out of his trancelike state and strode to the bed. The tight grip of remorse and fear on his heart relaxed its hold, and Dean felt elated. But right now the kid was in pain and needed help. "It's ok, shhhh just calm down."

"What happened?" Dr Brett appeared in the doorway.

Dean couldn't take his eyes off Sam not even to meet the doc's gaze. "I'm not sure, but I think he's waking up."

Sam's eyes flew open, wide and searching. He blinked up at Dean, body trembling, gaze pleading. His hands let go their crushing hold on his blanket and wound tightly into Dean's shirt as the doc began to remove the tube.

It must have been painful and the poor kid cried out in desperation whilst Dean held him still, allowing Sam to use him as an anchor throughout the ordeal. Tears spilled over Sam's eyes when the vent finally came free and he slumped to the bed, thoroughly exhausted, eyes at half mast.

"It's ok Sammy. I gotcha. Always."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The doctor looked completely stunned and overwhelmed but maintained a cool professionalism as he checked Sam over, talking to him softly and asking simple questions, which a drowsy Sam correctly answered sounding a little nasal with a tube now clipped under his nose.

Dean watched on, anxious for the doc to finish up and leave, his little brother's hand glued to his.

"What's your name?"

"Sam..." he silently sought Dean's advice with the surname. "Winchester." He finished off when his big brother nodded. Given the circumstances, Dean had decided to keep it simple for Sam's sake. The kid was under enough pressure as it was and Dean had already made arrangements with their so-called health insurance cover. It was a simple case of changing his middle initial.

"Birthday?"

Sam blinked a few times and Dean held his breath. "Uh...May second, 1983."

The kid smiled slightly when Dean nodded in approval.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"You came back. Knew you would." Dean whispered in Sam's ear when Dr Brett finally left, clutching a plethora of blood specimens and promising to return soon. Apparently Sam needed to undergo more tests to confirm it, but it seemed the young Winchester was going to be fine. No paralysis, brain damage or any other effects of the bleed were evident.

Sam had fallen asleep straight after the interrogation, and Dean was content to sit with him, still clutching a hand, the _right_ one this time, still stroking Sam's head.

It was surely a miracle. Dean wasn't stupid and knew how desperate Sam's situation had become. So what happened exactly?

Something had changed and for the life of him couldn't figure out what. All he knew was Sam was alive and well, and that the brothers needed a long talk about recent events.

"God Sam. You scared the living shit outta me." Leaning closer he studied Sam's peaceful face and scowled. "You ever nearly die like that again and I'll kill you myself!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"What am I doing here?" Sam's scratchy voice broke into Dean's rather pleasant dream involving Lindsay Lohan, Jennifer Aniston and a large can of whipped cream.

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he sat up to find Sam watching him warily.

"What do you remember?"

Sam shrugged morosely. "Uh…the diner? We were fighting…pretty much a blank after that…" his voice trailed off and he squirmed under Dean's direct stare, dropping his own gaze.

"How ya feelin'?"

"M'fine. Great even." But he wasn't fine and they both knew it. Sam didn't want to talk anymore, that much was obvious and it saddened Dean that his once open brother felt he couldn't confide in him. Sam was depressed; Dean knew the signs, had seen it in their father often enough over the years. The kid had been pushed too far, _Dean_ had pushed him too far and something had to give.

But before he could even open his mouth, Sam once again proved him wrong.

"Dean…please don't hate me." Dean felt his heart breaking when Sam finally raised his head again, eyes filled with tears. "I'm not asking you to forgive me for what happened, I don't expect you to. Just…please…"

Dean got up, sat on the edge of the bed and grasped Sam's shoulders. "Hey. I don't hate you, never have and never will." Touching his forehead to Sam's very briefly he let out a small laugh. "And for the record there's not much to forgive Sam. You were right about a lot of things in that basement. I've had some _seriously disturbing _amount of time to think about it since you were out. Dad don't always make the right decisions and that's the truth, and maybe I should stand up to him more. Like you did."

The brothers fell silent for a moment, just happy to be in each other's company without bickering or fighting.

"You never answered my question. What am I doing in a hospital?"

Dean sighed. "Ellicot." His brother flinched a little but otherwise said nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. "You got real sick. Back at the diner when your nosebleed started, I left the table to get some more napkins and when I got back, you'd passed out. Turned out it was more serious than that." Dean softened his voice when Sam gulped a little. "You had a weak blood vessel in your head, been bleeding for days but at the diner it burst completely. Nearly killed you." Watching Sam's face carefully, Dean added. "You weren't supposed to wake up dude." He didn't mention the paralysis or brain damage; his little brother looked freaked enough as it was.

"But…uh…so…what happened? How am I still alive?" Sam sat up suddenly, his voice urgent. "Dean what did you do?"

Dean backed up in his seat, hands raised in amused submission. "Whoa! Nothin' ok? It was all you. Maybe it was something to do with that freaky mojo you got goin' on."

"I'm not a faith healer Dean, I just have visions." Dean's grin faded when he saw just how scared Sam was. "Something must've happened to me, I can feel it."

"Hey, calm down man, something did happen but you're fine now," replied Dean, trying to smooth things over. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth kiddo. Just accept it and move on."

Sam nodded but said nothing to that.

"Look, there's something else you should know Sammy." Sam frowned at the soft subdued quality in Dean's voice. "The doc said stress would've added to it, kinda like the last straw. I'm sorry Sam. I gave you a bitch of a time after Roosevelt and it wasn't fair. There was nothing you coulda done to stop him, and I just laid into you every chance I got."

Mouth open as if to interrupt, Sam didn't get the chance because Dean was talking again.

"What Ellicot did to you, I think the bleed was down to him. You told me your nosebleeds only started after we left that damn place. But I saw you getting worse each day and I did nothing. Left you to deal with it on your own." Dean smirked without humour. "I thought you were just sulking and brooding, feeling guilty."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded a little jerkily as he became caught up in emotion. "I was. Big time. Couldn't live with what I'd done to you."

Yeah. Guilt because of what Ellicot forced him to do, fear that Dean hated him, and the loneliness that came with a brother that wasn't talking to him. It all added up to stress.

Dean watched Sam's hands clenching and fiddling nervously, and covered them in one of his own, squeezing gently until Sam stilled the movements and looked back up at him.

"I guess we're even now huh?" But his grin belied the words and Sam's own mouth twitched at the corners.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Well," he couldn't help it; Dr Brett scratched his head in bewilderment. "The MRI was clear, all your blood tests came back normal…I…I just don't know what to make of it." His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze swept over Sam from head to toe. The kid looked completely healthy; toned, if a little underweight, but refreshed and ready to leave judging by the way he was shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

"I guess you're a walking, talking miracle." The doc hadn't divulged the full consequences of the haemorrhage since Dean had taken him aside for a quiet word. Without going into detail he'd explained that Sam had enough on his plate right now, and Dean didn't want to freak him out any further.

"Yep, that's my little brother!" Dean clapped the bemused doctor on the back and held out his hand. "Always bounces back no matter what!"

"Uh…yeeaahh." Dr Brett shook his hand, still watching the younger brother curiously. A thought occurred to him and he turned to his desk, reaching for the phone. "Would you mind if I called a colleague of mine? I want to get a second opinion, maybe run some more tests on Sam if…"

He turned to face an empty office, the door swinging closed with a soft click.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So we going on that hunt you found?" Sam looked across at his brother. Dean was tapping his fingers happily on the steering wheel to Misty Mountain Hop, possibly one of Led Zeppelin's worst tracks in Sam's opinion. He preferred Black Dog or Trampled Underfoot but he guess it didn't matter right now. Because right now Dean was talking to him, laughing with him, and generally fussing over him even though Sam felt perfectly fine.

"Nah. Got a text from Dad. New coordinates." Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to glanced over at Sam. "I think he took care of the last one for us."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You called him. Didn't you?" When Dean nodded, Sam tried his hardest to smile like he didn't care but it didn't work in the slightest.

"S'ok. I'm not surprised he didn't come see me; probably never wants to see me again."

Dean sighed. "I'm sure he had his reasons Sammy." But Sam noted the doubt in his brother's voice.

Feeling it was best to change the subject, Sam cleared his throat. "So this new hunt."

"Nope."

"We…_what?_ What dya mean 'nope'?"

"Exactly that. Nope."

Sam blinked and shook his head. "Mind telling me what's goin' on here Dean?"

Dean just continued driving and listening to the music, grinning when Sam huffed impatiently when his questions went unanswered.

After a few miles Dean spotted what he was looking for and pulled over into the parking lot of the diner. The same diner as before.

"Ok. Let's go eat." He stared pointedly at Sam. "And none of that 'I'm not hungry' bullshit. You might be ok right now but you lost a lot of weight and I'm not gonna stand by let you get sick again. We're taking some time out."

"Dean, I…" Sam didn't know how to respond to that so he gave up and just smiled sadly. "Ok." Somehow he got the impression their dad had something to do with this.

"Good." Dean gave him a quick nod. "Glad ya seein' sense at last. Come on I'm starved!"

Laughing as he slid from the passenger seat Sam couldn't help but remark on that. "You're always hungry. Go more than an hour without food and you're like a whiny little girl."

"Hey! That wasn't called for!" Dean contrived to look offended but the grin emerged, ruining the effect. "And you're paying bitch!"

"Not with your appetite jerk!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors Notes:**_

Guess where I was when I wrote this? Yep. You guessed it. At work again.

It's been a bloody busy on call shift up 'til now and I don't hold out much hope that I won't get called again. The doctors down in the A&E department are young and consequently overzealous in blood testing everyone that walks through the doors, possibly including the occasional stray dog that wanders in, and apparently half the island is either ill or drunk this weekend; so no surprises there then. The comedian Bernard Manning once described this place as "eighty thousand alcoholics clinging to a rock."

I think he's right.

Unfortunately that was some years ago and there's now nearer ninety thousand, which makes my night shift just perfect. In fact I think the docs are actually testing the taxi drivers that brought the patients in too!

Ah. The joys of living on an island.

Hope you all enjoyed story six of this series. And yeah, I've already written a post-Asylum fic before but that was more an AU, and once this plot bunny hopped into my brain it just wouldn't bugger off.

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	7. Blind Faith

**I didn't Mean It.**

**Time's Dean unintentionally hurt his brother**

_**Story 7**_

**Blind Faith**

_**Sam pays a heavy price for Dean's slip up.**_

_**Dean 18, Sam 14.**_

**For Darksupernatural. Because you're just you my darling.**

_**Author's Notes: **_Very angst ridden and moody teenage Sam in this as he struggles to cope with life (depending on your point of view it could be considered completely OOC). Basically this goes out to all kids whose puberty has been less a graceful glide into adulthood and more a swift and sudden thump to Earth. Explores the possibility that Sam felt unable to explain what was troubling him in part because he didn't understand and also because Winchesters didn't talk about things like that. But there's lots of brotherly and fatherly moments coming up to help make Sam feel better.

You may also realise that I seem to have developed a bit of a thing for brotherly tickling.

Oh and we have a (sort of) present day Jared Padalecki as Dr Hamon near the end, so if the rest of the story sucks balls at least that's something to look forward to!

(Jared in a white coat and stethoscope...._oh yeah_...Hey! Can anyone else see him in a season of House? I'd cardiac arrest for him in a heartbeat....pardon the pun. Hurhurhur...)

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy get a damn move on!"

"Alright I'm comin'!" Sam growled in response and trudged out of the bathroom, pulling on a sweatshirt.

Dean huffed and glanced at his watch again. They were late, which meant they were in the shit with Dad, which also meant at least another two miles on top of their already gruelling early morning training. And it was _Sam's_ fault. Little shit spent the last goddamn _hour_ in the bathroom and Dean forced his mind to stop wondering about that.

Snagging his back pack off the table Dean tapped his foot impatiently when Sam dawdled round the room, gathering his dirty washing ready for a laundry run later that day.

"Sam…" Dean warned, eyes almost disappeared under his brows.

"I'm ready." Came the petulant response.

The boys headed out with Sam grumbling under his breath and Dean wondering if his life would be easier if he'd had a sister instead.

_Probably not._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The only thing worse than teenage mood swings and rebellion, John reflected, simply had to be teenage _sarcasm_. They thought they knew everything, believed all grownups were stupid, especially their parents, looked down their nose at absolutely anything vaguely _uncool_ and alternatively turned said nose _up_ at healthy food.

Sam certainly fit rather snugly into all those categories of late with the possible exception of the food issue. Whereas Dean ran screaming for the hills if anything on his plate was even _slightly_ green and leafy, Sam was just the opposite and it was a constant battle at the dinner table to get the kid to eat protein.

But really, Sam's inability to get a move on was starting to grate on John's nerves, and some mornings if the kid was going any slower he'd be going backwards.

Well today John was going to light a fire up Sam's ass and put a stop to all this crap.

The low rumble of the Impala caught his attention and he pushed away from where he'd been leaning against his truck.

Dean was the first to get out of the car, his shoulders tense in a way that suggested their journey hadn't been pleasant, either because his brother had been bitching at him the whole time, or worse staying silent and ignoring Dean completely.

The scowl on Dean's face would have been amusing except John could feel his pain.

"I take it your brother's all sweetness and light this morning?" He enquired.

"Don't get me started on that little…" Dean abruptly cut himself off. He didn't like swearing when it came to Sam, felt there was something fundamentally wrong with it, but John could see his oldest son was at the end of his tether.

"That why you boys are late?"

"He spent an hour in the bathroom!" Dean grumped.

John nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, the kid's gonna get what's coming to him, and it's gonna happen _right_ _now._"

Dean started grinning as they both turned to a scowling Sam.

Sam stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. He really didn't like the look on his brother's face and he certainly hated the one on his father's even more.

"What?" He snapped out, crossing his arms sulkily.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was in a bad mood, had been forever it seemed to him and couldn't seem to lift himself out of it. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him or why he was acting this way, giving his family a hard time. Dean especially didn't deserve it and it made Sam feel even worse.

Oh he knew about teenage hormones and mood swings but he sure didn't remember Dean ever behaving like this when he went through it. It didn't seem fair that Sam was being afflicted with far worse symptoms, and his depression deepened.

_Maybe it's just me and I'm a complete loon._

He couldn't bring himself to talk about it or ask advice, because Winchesters just didn't do that kind of thing and frankly he was just too embarrassed. So it became a never ending cycle, a self-fulfilling prophecy as such; Sam got scared that something was wrong with him, and that made him angry and the whole thing would start all over again. Counselling, like _crying_, was a dirty word in their household, so Sam suffered in silence and let it out the only way he knew how; by taking it out on his loved ones, and the only thing _that_ served to do was to alienate Sam from them even further.

_They'd be better off without me anyhow._

Approaching his family cautiously he realised that there was a distinct _atmosphere_ and he wasn't so far gone to realise that his brother and father had ganged up on him. Whatever was about to happen it was aimed purely at Sam, at putting him in his place.

_Guess I deserve it,_ he thought sadly.

It turned out to be quite a cumbersome assault course, with barbed wire, scramble nets, high wooden fences and right at the very end, where the runner would be completely exhausted, was a large water-filled ditch with a single length of rope stretched taught across it, followed by a fifty yard firing range. The final task was to achieve a ten round grouping with a .762 calibre SLR, which Sam happened to know for a fact was indeed a heavy bastard.

And he had to do all this in under five minutes.

"Ok, when ya ready and don't forget to stretch first." His father announced, standing back and handing Dean the stop watch. "Don't want any injuries today."

Sam glanced at Dean. His brother was grinning at their father like the two of them were sharing one big secret Sam wasn't a part of, though he could guess the joke was on him.

It was the wrong time to do this Sam knew, but he just couldn't go on without saying something to his brother.

"Dean?" He muttered sadly.

"What?" Dean, grin fading, fixed him with a cold stare.

"I'm sorry. For the way I've been acting recently." Sam tried not to gulp as the stare continued. "I know you're pissed at me and I deserve it but…I just…I don't know why…don't understand…" _Don't know what's happening to me!_

"Save it. I'm not in the mood for the touchy feely crap Sam, now get out there and just do your job." Dean turned his back on Sam in a way that seemed so very permanent.

Fighting back tears Sam grit his teeth and just nodded.

_So it's just a job. I'm just an employee and this aint a family anymore. At least not one I'm part of._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

On the first attempt Sam slipped on the wooden fence and caught a large splinter in his arm. Damn thing hurt like a sonofabitch. But his father, who was running alongside the course and shouting at him to get a move on, hadn't noticed and Sam bitterly suspected he wouldn't much care either. Finally crawling across the rope bridge he came to the firing range and lifted the rifle to his shoulder. He hit the target with all ten rounds but the grouping was out.

"Breathing let you down, _think_ Sam. Seven seconds, that's all the window you have, then you let it out and take another breath!" John huffed in frustration, shooting daggers at his youngest. "Seriously kid, can't you do better than that?"

As a matter of fact John was pretty impressed with his time, coming in easily under the five minute mark but wasn't about to give Sam any reason to start crowing yet. He'd only just started with the lessons, and the sole aim? Taking Sam down a peg or two.

It started raining as Sam trudged back to the start line, hands in pockets, refusing to look at his older brother. The rest of the day was likely doomed to the assault course until he got it right. Which wasn't going to happen because he was already exhausted, aching all over and the injury to his arm was throbbing a little. Somehow he'd missed the point of all this.

"This time Dean's gonna show you how to do it. Right Dean?"

"Yes sir." Came the enthusiastic response and Sam winced. His brother loved these things and could run them in his sleep. And now he was going to join in the 'let's humiliate Sam day'.

_Just perfect._

Dean was fresh to the course whilst Sam was already flagging, which showed in the way the older brother raced ahead, making light of all obstacles and pretty soon he was approaching the ditch.

Dean glanced back at his struggling brother and smirked. "Hey Sam! I've seen girls move quicker than you!" But there was no humour in his voice.

He allowed Sam a moment to catch up then practically leapt at the rope bridge, shimmying across with ease. Sam gazed at the ditch, seriously wondering if he could drown himself in it.

_Nah. They'd pull me out and perform CPR just to make me go back over the damn course again._

Dean was firing already and Sam made his way across the rope bridge, swinging off just as the rain came down harder and Dean took his third shot on the range. The recoil on the SLR was pretty brutal and even Dean struggled with it a little. Sam was dreading subjecting his bruised shoulder to another round of torture, but fortunately, depending on which way you looked at it, he needn't have worried.

The make shift range stood on a slight downhill slope that was rapidly turning to mud as the rain persisted; Dean adjusted his stance, determined to make each round count, but his foot went out from under him and the rifle swung round, the shot going wide.

"Wow!" Dean shook his head, rain water flying outwards, groaned and got back on his feet. "Damn mud!" He glanced over at the last place he'd seen his brother but there was no sign of him. "Hey Sam! You fell in that damn ditch and you're _walking_ home!"

The only response was the rain pattering on leaves, rocks and yet more mud.

"Sam?"

"Dean what the hell happened and where's your brother?" John had been counting the shots, and when the next one didn't come knew something was wrong and headed straight for the finish line.

"I don't know. He was right there by the rope bridge when I picked up the rifle." Dean's eyes frantically scanned the immediate area. And "Oh Christ…" when something occurred to him and he scrambled over to the ditch. "Sam!"

His little brother was floating face down in the muddy water apparently unconscious.

Dean dropped down into the ditch, grabbed him, turned him over and started pulling him over to the edge, eyes desperately searching Sam's face and body for signs of life.

"Dad, I don't think he's breathing."

John reached down with both hands and grasped his youngest under the arms, dragging him up and out. Dean leapt up, nearly sliding down the muddy walls of the ditch but managed to get a foot hold on a tree root and pulled himself out. His father had laid Sam out on the ground and began mouth to mouth immediately.

Sam obviously still had a pulse, but Dean was watching with increasing worry when the kid didn't start breathing on his own. And now he noticed something else, the side of his head had started bleeding heavily, or rather _continued_ to bleed and Dean realised there was a deep gouge underneath the mud. The worst of the blood had originally been washed away by ditch water and the length of Sam's mop of hair had mostly covered up the injury. But now the blood was free-flowing and Dean could tell from the shape of the wound just what had caused it.

_Oh God no! I shot my little brother in the head!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was desperately trying not to fidget as he and John waited for Sam's doctor to return. They already had a fair gist of what to expect, having seen the boy being taken for a CT scan after examination by the ER staff.

Sam was worryingly still and pale, mouth slack around the vent, his head heavily bandaged. Dean fought to control himself but the tears were building up and it was only a matter of time before they spilled over. He just couldn't _believe_ what happened, what he'd done to Sam, and now his little brother was deeply unconscious and all Dean kept seeing was the utter sadness on the kid's face when he rejected his apology, effectively shutting him out

Replaying the words over and over in his head, Dean stared unseeingly at the wall opposite.

_I know you're pissed at me and I deserve it but…I just…I don't know why…don't understand…_

Dean gradually became aware of the growing desperation in Sam's tone the more he heard it and wondered why it hadn't registered at the time. Now that he _really _thought about it he knew what Sam had been trying but failing to explain.

_Or I'd been failing __**Sam**__ right from the get go._

It was often amazing what the mind was capable off, the self-deception and sheer _ignorance _at what was going on _right under your own nose_.

At the time he'd assumed his brother was aiming for some kind of leniency that day, hoping that Dean would let him off the hook. He'd felt angry at Sam for even trying it but now he heard what the kid didn't say.

Because Sam had been asking for help.

Dean got the feeling he'd been asking, _begging_ for some time now.

And he just hadn't really known how.

"Dad…I'm sorry."

"S'not me ya should be apologising to!" His father snapped, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry kid. Not your fault. I should've taken better precautions. Using live ammo was a mistake, especially with the weather going the way it was. "

Dean bit his lip. "It's not just that. Sam…I think something was wrong with him before all this."

"What dya mean?" John turned to him frowning. "He was sick?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Not like that. He's been under a lot of pressure lately, and I know he's been studying extra hard for school." Staring down at his hands, he continued nervously. "He mentioned something before we started the assault course…he's growing up so fast and I don't think he knows how to handle it."

John looked thoughtful. "You mean…all the emotional stuff that goes with puberty?" He sighed in fear and frustration. "I getcha."

"Yeah," Dean rubbed at his eyes. "Sam's been struggling with it all this time and we just let him." A morose sniff. "_Left_ him to it."

"Mr Davies?" John stood up, anxious to hear news of Sam. The doctor was kind of young, looked barely old enough to shave in fact. "I have the results of your son's tests."

Given the solemn atmosphere it obviously wasn't good news.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Seven on the Glasgow Coma Scale with the possibility of sliding even further.

Hairline fracture to the skull.

Possible brain damage but it was hard to tell for sure until the swelling went down and Sam woke up. _If he woke up._

Ventilated due to the extent of the injury and the near drowning.

And, least of Sam's worries, a nasty wood splinter in his arm.

Dean and John watched, hearts in mouths, through the window of the ICU as the doctor gently pulled open Sam's eyelids, shining a small penlight into each pupil. A middle aged nurse stood nearby making notes on a clipboard and the medic appeared to call out each check. He spoke again and the nurse placed the clipboard back at the end of Sam's bed, then motioned to John that it was ok to come back in.

They'd been sitting with Sam for weeks now, occasionally being hoofed out whilst the usual regular examinations were made. Dean and John alternated between eating – _not a lot_- drinking coffee –_ way too much to be healthy_ – and when the caffeine wore off and neither could be bothered to get up, sleeping. Or rather dozing.

It was a little hard to sleep with all that noise.

Whooshes, clicks, hissing and bleeping. Sometimes they turned on the TV but there was little worth watching and besides, neither could pay attention. They had their own drama going on right there and it suddenly seemed important to pay close attention to Sam.

"I know you've been having a rough time." Dean had waited until John was out of the room before saying anything, and now he was hoping Sam could hear him. "I shoulda spotted it sooner; you don't act up like that for no good reason. You don't have to go through this on your own anymore bro. We're gonna help and when you wake up we're gonna talk."

Dean hadn't suffered much during his own puberty, just the odd sulk fest and mood swing, but some of his class mates at the time had gone through some serious depression. One of them even attempted suicide, it got so bad for the poor kid. It wasn't Dean's style; he just wasn't made that way. But Sam was; Dean had seen that long before the kid hit his teens and guessed he was in for rough ride. But then he'd blinked and suddenly Sam went from being a lively, talkative boy to a quiet and bad tempered _almost-adult_ _man child _and Dean hadn't handled it very well.

"But ya gotta wake up Sammy." Dean reached out and stroked the curls at the base of his brother's neck. "Please, give us both another chance and you won't regret it I promise."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It seemed that good news for once was about to descend on the Winchesters because Sam's GCS was now up to eleven, and his doctor was convinced the boy would wake up soon.

Finally able to relax a little, Dean and John talked quietly about what they planned to do when Sam was well again. But that wasn't all.

"I guess I should've understood better." John mused. "I ran away from home when I was Sam's age for similar reasons."

Dean stared at his father in shock. "Huh?"

"Yep." John chuckled. "Thought no one understood me and I had the weight of the whole damn world on my shoulders."

"What happened?" Dean was definitely all ears now.

"Dad found me at the bus station; didn't say a word just grabbed my bags and took me for my…ahem…'first beer'."

Dean smirked. _Right_. "What did he say to you?"

John was silent for a moment, gently trying to rub some warmth back into Sam's hand. "Told me if I thought life was tough now, just wait 'til I'm older." He laughed. "I know that doesn't sound too sympathetic but he meant well, and he turned out to be right. Then we just…talked…and that was all I needed." Another long silence. "Guess I really dropped the ball on this one huh?"

Dean sighed and took another long look at his brother, silent on the bed. "We both did."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam's head hurt.

There was muttering in his ear and he tried to answer but his throat was sore.

_Have I been sick? _He thought fuzzily. Something was covering his mouth and nose providing cool, refreshing air and gradually his head was clearing.

It must have been real dark in the room because Sam was sure his eyes were open, lids fluttering tiredly as he squinted and waited for his night vision to kick in.

There seemed to be some activity in the room; Sam could feel the excitement even if he couldn't see what was happening, then someone was pulling at his eyelids, forcing them wider. He flinched at the whiteness, once in each eye, which was gone as suddenly as it appeared.

_Gee thanks. So much for night vision._

But his eyes were open.

They were well and truly open and it was dark and why would it be dark in the room _if there were_ _other people there!?!_

"Sam?" A familiar voice by his ear. "You with us kiddo?"

Sam blinked but still couldn't see anything. Not entirely sure what the hell was going on; he just went a long with it. "Yeah I'm here." He answered with a slight nod, and kept his eyes trained ahead.

"How ya feeling?"

"Tired." Swallowing thickly Sam had to ask the inevitable. "What happened to me? Where am I?"

The pause that followed seemed a little loaded.

"Uh, you're in hospital Sam. You had an accident on the assault course, remember?"

Sam frowned lightly. "I remember the assault course, but that's about it."

He didn't ask the burning question, too scared of the answer.

_Why the hell can't I see?_

Not quite ready to share this just yet, Sam closed his eyes and tried really hard not to freak out.

"Yeah, well." A rustling nearby and Sam imagined Dean leaning forward in his seat. "S'not surprising. Sorry little bro; I nearly blew your brains out when I slipped on some mud. You've been in a coma for the last month."

He couldn't help it. Sam started laughing. His brother, in spite of sounding genuinely remorseful, was always so direct with his approach and the comedic timing was perfect.

At least for Sam.

"Dude it's no laughing matter, you nearly died," Dean's voice changed from remorse to puzzled and more than a little concerned. "You feeling alright?"

Sam opened his eyes to find he still couldn't see. "Yeah, just tired."

_And scared shitless._

"Go back to sleep Sam. Dad'll be back from the coffee run soon." He heard Dean shift again in his chair and felt a warm hand on his forehead, gently stroking as though he sensed Sam's need for comfort. "He doesn't even know you're awake yet."

Sam's eyes drifted closed once more and he let go.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"How long was he awake?"

Sam was awake again but kept his eyes closed when he heard his dad's voice.

"Not long. He doesn't remember much."

"Hmm."

Sam felt the close scrutiny and finally gave up the pretence. His heart sank just as his despair swung up the other way like a seesaw when he opened his eyes to be met once again with that ominous black.

"Hey Sammy." John whispered softly. "Feeling any better?"

"Uh…yeah, s'fine."

There came that damn silence again; Sam couldn't bear it any longer and just blurted it out.

"Dad?" He heard the fear in own voice and noises from either side of him signalled he had his family's attention.

"What is it Sammy? What's wrong?" That was Dean. Sam blinked rapidly in the hope his vision would magically clear before having to tell his brother and father that he was now effectively useless.

"Come on son," John urged. "It's ok. You can tell us."

"It's not ok Dad." Sam whispered fearfully. "I…I can't see."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean and John stared at each other, then at Sam, his blank sightless eyes blinking hard.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was beginning to sound desperate. "Dad? You guys still there? _For God's sake talk to me! Please?"_

Dean was the first to move, immediately sitting on the edge of the bed and grasping Sam's shoulders. "It's ok. We're right here and we'll figure this out, just relax kiddo."

"But…I'm blind." Tears spilled down Sam's cheeks and his sniffed miserably. "What's there to figure out? I might as well be dead for all the use I am to you now right?"

"Don't you say that," John hissed angrily, grabbing at Sam's T-shirt. "Don't you ever say that!" Sam flinched and tried to struggle away but his father held him in a vice-like grip. "You ungrateful little…"

"Dad stop it you're scarin' him!" Dean dragged his father off Sam, placing himself between John and the bed. "Just take it easy for Christ sake!"

John's eyes widened when he realised what he'd done. Sam's face was turned away, eyes scrunched shut, silent tears running over the oxygen mask. Even so it wasn't hard to make out the expression of utter misery on the kid's face and John's heart broke.

"Oh God Sammy I'm so sorry." Stepping round Dean, John sat next to his youngest son, and gently wiped his tears away. "It's gonna be ok, everything's gonna be fine. But first things first huh? We need to tell your doctor so he can take a look at you."

"What's the point?" Sam whispered dejectedly. "Doubt there's much he can do."

"Now hold on a second." Dean eyed his brother carefully. "We don't know anything of the kind; this could be temporary right Dad? Head injuries, trauma and all that crap?"

John nodded. "He's right Sam. Let's hear what your doc's got to say before we go assuming the worst ok son?"

But Sam didn't look convinced.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean waved a hand in front of Sam's face, frowning.

"Very funny Dean."

"You saw that?"

"Nuhuh. But I can still make out light and dark ya know."

"Oh. Sorry. Forgot." Dean scuffed his feet nervously on the hospital floor, the soles of his biker boots leaving faint marks. He glanced at his little brother and sighed worriedly. Sam's face was ashen, dark shadows underlined those strange sightless eyes and his hands were shaking badly. No way was he fit to be leaving AMA but John insisted and Sam was in full support of getting the hell out of there.

"You don't have to wait with me. I'm alright sitting here 'til Dad gets back." Sam's small, sad voice nearly made Dean cry. Dean _never_ cried. It was a solid fact of life; women had babies, politicians had no brains and Dean…_just, didn't, cry_.

"Sammy I'm not leaving you alone. And besides, I _want _to be here. How many people get to tease they're little brother when he can't see?"

Sam smiled. It was a bad joke but it was just great to see…_hear_ that Dean was carrying on as normal.

"You'll get plenty of opportunities from now on Dean." His smile faded when he realised he'd spoiled the mood. "Sorry." He whispered.

"Hey! Don't be, ok?" Dean dropped into a crouch in front of his brother, smoothing his hands over Sam's knees and giving them a gentle pat. "You'll get your sight back kiddo, I promise. You heard what the doctor said, once the bruising and swelling goes down…"

"Then we'll know for sure if I'm permanently blind, yeah I got that part Dean." Sam's mouth twisted into a grimace of anxiety and disappointment. "But the part I'm concentrating on is 'know for sure', in other words there's a real possibility I _won't_ get my sight back. In fact, I _also_ recall that he said the chances were only fifty-fifty."

Dean fell silent. In the four weeks Sam was unconscious he'd sat at his bedside talking, teasing and cracking jokes, and generally getting tired of the sound of his own voice. But he'd obviously talked himself out because he just couldn't think of anything to say that would make things better.

"I can hear that." Sam said softly.

"What?" Dean blinked. "I never said anything."

"Didn't have to. But I could hear the cogs turning in your head."

"Smart ass." And just like that the good mood was back. "Least you can't see it coming."

"See what coming?"

"This!" Dean stood and launched himself at Sam, tickling his brother into fits of girly giggles.

"Dean stop it!" He choked out, flailing uselessly. Dean had him in a tight hold, making sure Sam didn't damage his injured head, but carried on tickling with ruthless intent.

"Stop laughing and I'll stop tickling…see? Ya can't! Ha! Double pun!" And Dean stepped up his attack.

"C-can't s-stop!"

Sam was writhing and laughing helplessly on the bed, his older brother grinning from ear to ear when John strode into the room, not amused in the slightest.

"Boys!" His stern no-nonsense tone cut through their merriment and the brothers both sat up on the bed, suitably chastised. John immediately felt bad as the laughter died and Sam's happy smile all but disappeared, and he softened his approach a little. "S'time to go."

He saw Dean's jaw clench angrily but knew he wouldn't make an issue out of it. Dean never went against his father's orders no matter how much he might disagree with them. Apparently, he didn't approve of cutting and running before Sam was fully recovered but seeing as that prospect wasn't a sure bet, John didn't see any point in hanging around. Even if he did they had no choice anyhow; the fake insurance was a bust and the doctors were furious. Even now security were on their way, the police had been called and John just wanted to_ get the hell out!_

He'd overheard the phone calls, the angry conversations when the fraud was discovered and he supposed after a month of their services he couldn't really blame them. Still, at least he had a head start; the medical staff were completely unaware that John had listened in and unknowingly given him prior warning.

Without waiting for permission or even giving some kind of signal, John bent down and scooped Sam up into his arms, his youngest struggling and gasping in shock.

"It's ok, just me." John muttered in Sam's ear. "We need to leave like yesterday. Sorry kid, didn't mean to scare ya." He might have been in a desperate hurry but John wasn't beyond comforting his panicked son. "Dean, pass me that blanket."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

They left via the emergency stairs and just in time too. As soon as the door to the stairwell banged shut behind them, security guards and police officers arrived in the lift, scoping out the ward as quietly as possible so as not to warn of their approach.

John bundled Sam into the rear seat, Dean following on behind, and covered both his sons in the blanket.

"Keep ya heads down and don't move." John slid behind the wheel and pretty soon the black truck was purring quietly out the hospital parking lot. Just as he passed the CCTV cameras, he casually brought a hand up to his face, pretending to rub at his left eye.

"Dad what's going?" Dean had no idea why he was whispering and suddenly felt real stupid. "What's the hurry? We didn't even pick up Sam's prescription." He spoke in a more normal voice this time and tried to ignore his brother's sniggering.

"Let's just say our health cover ran out." John's reply was calm and collected but the boys could feel the undercurrent of tension. "And I liberated Sam's meds from the doc when he wasn't looking." He glanced in the rear-view mirror. "You can sit up now boys. Feel ok Sam?"

"Uh…yeah. M'fine."

Dean pulled back the blanket and studied Sam's face. "Liar. You're hurting Sammy, so don't hide it from me ok?" He pleaded softly. "Is it your head?"

Sam nodded slowly, eyes pinched with pain. "Migraine. Feel sick."

It was all the poor kid could manage as responses went. John reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out a small paper bag and a bottle of water.

"Here ya go son, these should help." He handed over the pain meds, and Dean unscrewed the lid, shaking out the pills and unfastening the water bottle. "I'll give it another hour then we'll pull over at the next motel so you can get some proper rest."

"Dad we don't have to stop just for me, we should keep going…" Sam protested but his father cut him off.

"No arguments Sammy. You woke up from a four week coma less than twentyfour hours ago." John told him gruffly. "I'm not taking any more chances with your health." _It's bad enough I had to virtually kidnap you from your sickbed._

Sam turned to his brother, eyes not quite meeting his. "Don't look so smug."

Dean gaped and glanced between his father and brother, his face adorned with the most ridiculous innocence. "What did I do?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How did you know?"

"I could sense it and I also know you too damn well!" Sam growled and rested his aching head back against the seat just as their father snorted with laughter.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy? You awake?" Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder. "Dad got us a room."

"Hmmm?" Sam opened his eyes and sighed. He'd been dreaming about that damned assault course again and the only positive thing to come out of the experience was that he could see. Until he woke up at least. He felt Dean's hand grasp his and gently pull him down and out of the truck.

"Ok Sam?" Dean muttered. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate Sam's headache so he kept his voice down.

"Uhuh." Sam was still a little drowsy and the drugs he's taken earlier would see him off to sleep again soon enough.

Dean moved Sam's hand up to the crook of his own arm and held it there, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "This way." As they shuffled forward together, Sam stumbled a little on the uneven ground, his brother keeping him upright and stable. "Easy there. S'ok, I gotcha kiddo."

"Dean where's your car?" Sam mumbled.

Dean didn't even ask how he knew the Impala wasn't there.

"Uncle Bobby picked it up after…well, after we took you to the hospital." He hadn't left in the entire month, preferring to stay close to his unconscious brother. "We're gonna drop by his place in a few days when ya feeling better. He's been asking after you by the way."

A small smile lit up Sam's face. "Really?"

"Says he's got some great new books we can read to ya…" The words were out before Dean knew what he was saying and he shut up like a clam.

Sam stopped moving. "Dean it's alright…I'm mean it _isn't_ but…really, you don't have to watch your mouth around me." He snorted softly. "Ya never usually worry 'bout it."

"There ya go bein' a smart ass again." But Sam heard the laughter in his voice and grinned back.

Heavy footsteps made Sam tilt his head to the side in consideration. "How's the room Dad? Any good?"

A swift intake of breath told him his usually unshakable father was taken aback. He'd had nothing better to do in bed whilst waiting for his so-called walking papers and had very quickly learned to distinguish between the various noises going on around him. Sam knew the difference between John and Dean's footsteps and movements easily enough, and smells were also pretty telling. He'd known, for example, that Dean had drunk the hospital coffee and munched on a candy bar not long before their father came to collect them. He could even discern that it was a caramel centred bar which frankly scared the crap out of Dean, who vowed never to steal from his brother's secret stash ever again.

_Yeah right. That'll be the day!_

"Two beds and a pull out. Got our own small kitchen too."

"What about a TV?" Dean's ever important question took priority over the little things such as: does the cooker work properly? Are _all_ the light bulbs fully functioning? And: is there any toilet paper in the bathroom?

John sighed shaking his head in amusement. "Yes, we even have Pay per view."

"Cool! Porn! Come on Sammy, let's go check it out."

"What's the point? I can't _watch_ it!"

"Yeah but you can hear _and_ you got an imagination right?" Dean actually waggled his eyebrows at their father just before they disappeared into the motel room.

"Dean don't you go corrupting your brother! He's only fourteen and way too young for that!" All he got for his troubles was some evil sniggering and John started unloading their duffle bags from the truck, still laughing to himself.

_Isn't Dean supposed to be __**eigh**__teen?_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam sat on top of the bed covers, back against the head rest and just listened to the TV, barely paying attention to the discussion going on between his father and brother. He had no idea what they muttering about and didn't care; his head still ached a little but worse his bladder felt full, had done for the last half hour but he couldn't bring himself to ask for help. Sam didn't know where the bathroom was and felt hugely embarrassed about it, flushing red at the very thought of speaking up. After much squirming and fidgeting, he slipped off the bed and started feeling his way round the room as quietly as possible, wishing like hell that he hadn't left it so long.

Keeping one hand on the wall with the other held out and sweeping the air in front of him, he still tripped over what turned out to be his duffle bag and went down hard.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up when he heard a loud thud and a groan, and found Sam laying on his side in the corner of the room, rubbing his knee. "What the hell were ya doing?" He squatted down, steadying his brother. "Here, take my hand. You ok? Can ya stand?"

"I needed the bathroom," Sam muttered and blushed. "And _yeah_ I can stand."

John left his seat to open the bathroom door while Dean guided his brother across the room. "Should have said something dumbass!" Dean scolded gently. "That's what I'm here for."

"You were busy and I wanted to do something for myself!"

"Never too busy to help my little brother and I suppose doing something for yourself also involves breaking a knee?"

"S'not broken. Just bruised."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let me know when you're done and I'll get some ice on that."

Sam smiled apologetically. "Thanks Dean."

"No problem."

"Oh and Dean? Close the door? I'm not peeing in front of you."

"Not something I was dying to witness anyhow Sam."

A few minutes later Dean heard water running followed by a brief silence, broken suddenly by the sound of his brother clearing his throat nervously before calling out.

"Uh...Dean? Can't find the door."

Dean might have laughed but something in his brother's voice stopped him, and he opened the bathroom door to a silently crying Sam. Dean signalled to his father, who immediately came over, frowning worriedly.

"What's wrong buddy? Tell me."

Sam sniffed and shivered miserably. "I c-can't d-do this….c-can't l-live like th-this."

Grasping Sam's upper arms and slowly pulling him out of the bathroom, Dean sat him down on his bed, and John gently wiped away Sam's tears, folding the kid into his strong arms.

"Ssshhhh baby boy. It's ok." John felt his own eyes burning with tears as he rubbed his son's back. "Everything's gonna turn out just fine."

"How Dad?" Sam croaked out, feeling utterly ashamed of himself. "How can this turn out ok? I'm blind! I can't even pick up a gun let alone fire it, can't fight, can't run…_can't even help with research!_"

John was stumped and had no clue how to fix this because Sam was essentially right. Catching Dean's eye, John's expression said it all.

_Help me out here!_

Dean sat next to his brother and cupped his jaw. "Hey. That's only true right now but there's things we can try ok? We got options."

"Like what?" Sam whispered back, but Dean could hear the interest in his voice.

"We learn Braille together. I can help you, and I'm pretty sure Bobby knows where we can get Braille interpretations of most books we use for hunts. In the meantime we can read to you, and you can use that encyclopaedia-sized brain of yours to help us work things out."

Sam nodded slowly. "Uhuh…"

Catching on John came up with his own idea. "I can still teach ya to fight," he added quickly, not wanting to put too much on Sam's over-burdened shoulders "_only_ if you want to and _only_ when ya ready to try."

"Really?" Sam sat back, blinking. "You think I could still fight even though I can't see?"

"Sure you could." Dean winked at his father. "You remember that episode of Buffy we saw a while back? Giles made her train blindfolded. And you fight like a girl anyhow so you're all set."

His little brother smirked through his tears and furiously wiped them away. "Thanks guys. Sorry for…ya know…crying like a baby."

"I think you're entitled. The doc told me you might be a little emotional after waking up, and it's been a long day." John smiled and ruffled Sam's hair gently. "Besides, I'd be freakin' out in your shoes."

"Don't believe you." Sam mumbled petulantly.

"Oh yeah?" John challenged. "When I was ten years old I played a game of blind man's bluff at my best friend's birthday party; within two minutes of wearing the blindfold I was crying out for my mommy. Never lived that one down!"

"And you sure won't now!" Dean grinned evilly, his mind alive with the possibilities.

"Don't even think about it." His father scowled deeply, wishing he hadn't mentioned it after all. Leastways in front of Dean – _big mistake!_ "Just one word, Dean, and I'll take back the Impala."

"Huh?" Dean dropped the grin in disbelief. "You wouldn't!"

John's eyes narrowed. "Just try me."

Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't push it Dean. I can tell from Dad's voice he means it."

John lightly squeezed the back of Sam's neck. "That's ma boy. Now! Who's hungry for pizza?"

"Pepperoni, spicy beef and extra cheese." Dean rattled off in an almost pavlovian response.

"Sam?"

"Same here!"

John stared at his boys in disgust. "You're _both_ gonna have spicy beef?"

"Uhuh." They responded in unison.

"Oh God!" John headed out into the night, muttering something about getting his own room, or possibly a nose peg.

Dean laughed. "Yeah right. One of these days I really should talk to him about his feet. Only guy I know that got a refund from Odor Eater." He turned back to his brother, whose eyes gave off the false impression that Sam was watching him. It was a little creepy but no way was Dean bringing _that_ up. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I am now." Sam nodded, his smile soft and grateful. "Thanks Dean."

Dean thought for a moment before replying. "Just promise to remember something for me?"

"Sure!" His kid brother blinked in confusion, wondering where the hell this was going.

"That doc said fifty-fifty right?" Dean's hand rested on Sam's shoulder. "So let's try to think of the glass as being half full from now on."

"Ok." Sam tried to control his tears again. "I promise to remember that."

"Now let me take a look at that knee…Jesus Sammy! That had to hurt!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

With a few days rest Sam was feeling a little better. His head didn't hurt so much and the bruises on his knee were beginning to fade, owing to his brother's first aid skills. Once they hit the road Dean continued to pine for his beloved Impala and bitched about the music on his father's stereo.

"I'm mean seriously Dad! Garth Brooks? Come on!"

"Driver picks the music…" John murmured reasonably.

"Yeah I know, Shotgun shuts his pie hole." Dean huffed and folded his arms, grouching and muttering under his breath.

Sam did his best to smother the grin but it kept sneaking out, his facial muscles betraying him.

"You want me to come back there and finish what we started at the hospital bitch?" Dean barked out. "'Cos there aint much room to fight and squirm on the back seat Sammy, you'd be trapped and completely at my mercy."

And just like that the grin disappeared.

"Come to think of it, it might lift the boredom." Dean's eyes narrowed at the worried expression on Sam's face. "Whadya think little bro? Can Mr Tickles come out and play?" And in the spirit of tormenting his brother, Dean reached out a hand to poke at Sam's ribs.

Sam gasped and slapped it away before it made contact.

"Sam?"

John glanced over at Dean, registering the shock on his face. "What is it boys? What's goin' on?"

"Sammy can you see me?" Dean ignored his father for the time being, just gently palmed Sam's face with both hands and gazed intently into his eyes.

"No…but I saw…something." Sam gulped nervously. "It was coming at me but I couldn't make out what it was."

Dean began smiling broadly. "It was my hand kiddo. I think ya starting to get your sight back Sam!"

"Really?" Sam couldn't help feeling sceptical about it, not ready to believe the nightmare might soon be over. "You really think so?"

Dean rested his forehead against his little brother's and sighed with relief. "Positive. That glass…"

"Half full, right?" Sam acknowledged with a small tearful nod, his breath hitching mid-sentence.

"Damn straight."

John, still keeping his eyes on the road, brought his hand up and reached it round to rest on Sam's shoulder, rubbing it soothingly.

Elated by the good news the Winchesters decided to stop for a celebration, which consisted of dinner in a family bar at the next town. Sam was so high with excitement he didn't even complain when Dean cut up his food for him. John ordered T-bone steaks all round which pleased the proprietor immensely, and Dean was happy to note that Sam ate every morsel.

It was still strange holding a conversation with his brother, knowing that he _wasn't_ looking at him, that he couldn't _see_ him. Sam's eyes shifted and moved as though trying to follow but always fell short of their goal. But Dean still felt encouraged by what happened on the road. It might be a slow recovery but Sam would get there.

"Let's stretch our legs." John yawned and rolled his neck to work out the kinks. "Last part of the journey coming up and also the longest."

It was close to sunset when the Winchesters strolled along the main street, bellies satisfyingly full, and generally feeling at peace with the world. As usual Sam was being guided by his brother with a hand on Dean's arm, and teenagers dashed by on their way to the local arcade, chattering excitedly about the new game in town. John noticed his boys' reaction, their ears pricked up with interest, and grinned broadly.

"Uh, you guys wanna go check out the arcade?"

"We got time Dad?" asked Dean, more than a little surprised, then his face fell. "But Sam…"

"It's ok. I can still listen to you play." Sam smiled happily. Dean had been his eyes since he woke up and Sam could imagine it was a tiring and difficult task; his big brother deserved a break and if he wanted to explore the arcade then that was fine by Sam. In fact…

"Dean wait, I got some quarters…hold on a sec." Sam let go of Dean's arm and started digging into his jean pockets for change, but when he brought his hands out some of the coins fell to the ground and rolled out into the road. Instinctively. and before Dean or John could stop him, Sam followed the gentle tinkling of metal.

"Sammy!"

Dean ran out after his little brother and grabbed him out the way of a large silver grey BMW as it came roaring down the street, the two of them tumbling to the concrete on the other side. The car carried on and even sped up.

"Dean! You boys alright?" John came jogging across the road.

"Sam you ok?" Dean rolled over, arms full of his little brother, and sat up. "Sam?"

A thin trail of blood ran down the side of Sam's face, his breathing a little shallow and he wasn't moving.

"Hey wake up! Don't you go to sleep on me now!" Dean heard the panic in his own voice.

"Shit!" John dropped down, stripping off his button down shirt, balling it up and pressing it to the wound on Sam's head. "What happened?"

"I…" Dean blinked, panic rolling through him. "I think he hit his head when I tackled him."

"There's a clinic near that place we had dinner," John helped Dean to his feet, Sam still in his arms. "He'll be ok Dean, but let's get him checked out just in case."

John felt fairly confident it wasn't serious, and given how much worse it could have been if not for his eldest son, he couldn't help feeling relieved. But Dean was on the verge of freaking out.

"S'posing he doesn't wake up this time Dad?" Dean turned pleading eyes on his father. "What about his sight? He was doing so well…_he was gonna see again_. What if…"

"That's enough Dean!" John ordered sharply. "Pull yaself together kid and let's get your brother to the clinic."

He regretted being so hard on Dean when he was quite clearly in shock but it appeared to work as he stiffened his spine and pulled his little brother's head back against his shoulder.

Giving a small nod, Dean called out "Let's go" in possibly the most calm and determined voice John had ever heard from him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The young clinic doctor had been about to close up when the small family appeared in his doorway, the young boy lying unconscious in his older brother's arms, their father holding some kind of shirt against the injured child's head.

Sighing tiredly as he watched his last chance at a decent night's sleep effectively go south, the doc nodded and gestured to one of three soft leather exam beds behind a dark green curtain. The strangers eyed him with something akin to suspicion…_and recognition?_

The doc was pretty sure he'd never met them before, wouldn't have forgotten if he had.

"What happened exactly?"

The older boy laid his brother down, tenderly brushing the long fringe away from the kid's eyes, and the doc got the feeling he was in for a long story.

He wasn't wrong.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"And you say he was starting to make out shapes already?" The doc held Sam's right eye open, shining his penlight and watching the pupil contract appropriately.

"Yeah, just this afternoon before we stopped for a meal." John answered, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Dean sat on the other side of the bench awaiting the doc's conclusions.

"Wow! That's impressive." He smiled at Dean reassuringly. "Your kid brother must be pretty resilient huh?"

"Uh…yeah…so is he, ya know, gonna be alright?" Dean's sharp gazed pinned the doctor to the spot. _Will his sight be ok?_

His nametag read 'Dr Stephen Hamon' and the Winchesters eyed the poor guy warily, silently demanding an answer.

Dr Hamon talked quietly as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff round Sam's left upper arm. "I think he's going to be just fine, no sign of concussion though I'd like him to stay here overnight just to be sure, but as for his eyesight we won't know until he wakes up." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry I can't give you anymore than that; this is only a small clinic and I just don't have the equipment here."

"But, he _will_ wake up right?" Dean was still staring intently at the doc.

"Yep. And no month-long coma either." Dr Hamon packed away his stethoscope. "He's a healthy young boy and I've every confidence in him."

"Can we stay with him?" The tense, mistrustful, almost _angry_ look was wiped from Dean's face, worry and hope stepping into the fray. "Sam might be scared if he wakes up and we're not here."

Stephen smiled. "I'll get some blankets for you both. You can use the other exam beds."

Dean and John watched the dark haired doctor with puzzlement as he left the room.

"Ya know…"

"Yeah!"

"That guy could be Sam in about ten years from now."

"Weird! He even sounds a little like him."

"Small world I guess."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Even though the exam beds were reasonably comfortable, Dean just couldn't get any sleep. John had dozed off hours ago and Sam's doppelganger medic was presumably sleeping in his office. Dean had taken to calling him Dr Sam behind his back.

_Dr Sam_ had sat up and chatted to him for a while as though he knew just how freaked Dean really was. He made cocoa for them both and laughed softly at Dean's dirty jokes. In all, the doc was a great guy with a kind and generous heart, and that _really_ reminded him of Sam.

His head was plagued by images of his little brother's sad, hurt face when Dean brushed off his apology before the assault course, the sound of the rifle going off, Sam floating face down in the ditch, Sam unresponsive, in a deep coma, _Sam walking out in front of the car…_

"Oh god I'm gonna be sick…" Dean shot up and virtually took a standing leap into the adjoining bathroom, vomiting harshly the instant his face hovered over the basin.

He felt the sudden warmth of John's hand on his back. "Easy there son." His father's deep voice softened by sleep rumbled round the tiny bathroom. "Just take your time. Been a long…well, _month_ for all of us."

After a while Dean flushed the toilet and John handed him a damp washcloth.

"Thanks Dad."

"You're welcome." John thought about staying for a moment longer but, knowing his eldest son as well as he did, he quickly decided against it. "Try to get some sleep kiddo. Sam's gonna need ya when he wakes up."

Dean nodded. It was his father's own way of telling him it wasn't his fault. But John wasn't finished.

He hovered briefly in the doorway, his outline framed by the dull light from the room beyond. "Ya did good today son. Don't ever think otherwise." And he was gone, heading back to bed leaving Dean some time to gather his thoughts.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

He didn't realise he'd slept until the sun slipped round and shone in through the blinds, bringing him back to the world. Rolling on to his side, Dean sought his brother somewhere in the thick post-slumber haze only to find a pair of worried blue-green eyes staring his way.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up, watching him closely.

"Mornin' Dean." Sam slurred out a greeting. "Where the hell are we?"

"Don't you remember?" Dean could swear something was different about his brother this morning. His tired brain was trying hard to piece it together, but sleep still lingered in the background making his thoughts too sluggish. Something told him the answer was there somewhere; he just had to be patient.

"Remember what?"

"You almost got knocked down by a car. I pulled you out of the way but you hit your head." Dean kept watching him. "This is the local free clinic. Dr Hamon examined you and decided to keep you here for the night, but you're gonna be ok. Ya got lucky."

Sam paused before answering. "No wonder my head hurts. Again." A strange look came over Sam's face. "You ok Dean?"

Dean's eyebrows rose slowly up to his hairline as the penny finally dropped. "Sammy? Are you actually _lookin' _at me?"

Sam blinked a few times and nodded. "It's a little dull and dim, quite dark actually but yeah, I can just about see ya." He grinned suddenly. "I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out!"

Dean's face was a picture of anger and astonishment. "Why you little…" he shot out of bed and stalked towards his brother.

"Uh...Dean? Are you mad at me?" The grin was gone, worry and sadness in its place.

Dean stepped right up to the bed, then to Sam's amazement he perched on the edge and gently pulled him into his arms. "No kiddo. Just glad you're alright."

Sam let his guard down, sinking gratefully into his brother's embrace. Which was fine, for the first few minutes…

"Sammy?"

"Uhuh?"

"You really didn't think I was gonna let you off _that_ lightly, did ya?"

"Wha…?" Sam shrieked suddenly, laughter bubbling helplessly out of his mouth as his brother went to town on him, tickling to the point of insanity. "St-stop! Dean!"

"You boys up for some breakfast?" Sam and Dean glanced up to find their father smiling at them, leaning against the doorframe, ankles crossed, arms folded and looking the most relaxed they seen him in a long time. "I invited Dr Hamon to join us. Seemed the least we could do after last night."

"Great idea Dad." Dean clapped his brother on the back. "Come on runt, let's get you up."

"Freeze right where you are!" 'Dr Sam' stepped into the room. "No one's going anywhere until I've examined my patient." Scowling good naturedly at Dean, the doc approached the bed, a big friendly smile forming as he took in Sam's pale face and heavily squinting eyes. "Hi there, you must be Sam, that joker's little brother right?" He jerked his chin in Dean's direction, earning a sarcastic snort.

Sam grinned. "Yup."

"Now I'm guessing you just got some sight back huh? That's great news." Out came the penlight. "Can you look up for me please Sam? I just want to check you over, make sure everything's ok."

One very thorough examination later, Sam had overcome his shyness and was chattering away with Stephen Hamon nineteen to the dozen.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey! Clothes! Start putting them on! Breakfast! Me hungry!"

"You _Tarzan_ more like it." Sam sent Stephen a long suffering look. "He's _always_ hungry."

"Really!" Dr Hamon rose to his feet and frowned at Dean, speaking to John as he moved closer. "Maybe I should examine Dean for some kind of parasitic infection. Worms maybe?"

Dean started looking wary and backed away. "I don't have worms, I'm a growing boy and need to eat." His caution unfortunately gave way to curiosity and he just had to ask. "How would you look for that exactly?"

An evil grin, a little too much like the one Sam sometimes wore, came over the good doctor's face. He didn't have to say a word, just the steady snap of the latex gloves was enough and Dean's eyes widened fearfully.

"Oh no you don't!"

Sam and John didn't think they'd ever seen him run so fast.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean and John couldn't help but stare.

"What?" Sam mark 1 and Sam mark 2 replied together.

"My God!" John's eyes swivelled between the two. "That's just creepy."

Dr Hamon sat next to Dean's little brother across the diner table from John and his eldest boy, an innocent, puzzled look on his face _so damn similar_ to that of Sam's, with puppy dog eyes to boot.

"You sure we don't have relatives out this way somewhere Dad?" Dean muttered without taking his eyes off the weirdness.

"Well, I can't say for certain…" John confessed then trailed off, leaning closer to the doc. "You aint got no one in the family goes by the name Winchester or Campbell by any chance?"

Stephen shook his head and Dean noted how he scooped up his scrambled eggs _in exactly the same manner as his brother_. "Nah. No Scots blood in my family history, at least not immediately. Polish and Czechoslovakian maybe but definitely not Celtic or Gaelic of any kind."

"Uhuh." Was John's only response.

Dean couldn't hold back any longer. "You guys don't see it at_ all_?"

"See what?" Sam blinked, trying to pinpoint his brother through the darkness. It was like watching TV with the brightness turned right down and though it was gradually lifting he was still having some trouble.

"Sammy, take a good _up close _look at the doc and tell me what ya see."

Sam turned his head and gazed right up at Stephen. "Uh…he's real tall even sitting down?" He answered, not entirely sure what was expected of him.

"Look at his face Sam, his _face_." Dean insisted, growing impatient.

Sam tried again. He could just make out that Stephen was smiling back at him, blue-green eyes alight with laughter. Squinting harder, moving his face back and forth, and even virtually standing on his head still didn't give Sam a clue what his brother was talking about.

"Well?" Dean was watching him with a hopeful smile whereas his Dad just looked amused.

"Well what?"

That was it. He'd had enough of being tactful and wasn't all that good at it anyhow. It just didn't suit him.

"You guys could be brothers! Sam he's like an older version of you!" Dean blurted out. "The hair, nose, eyes…._everything_! He even _talks_ like you!"

Sam eyed him worriedly. "You feeling ok Dean?"

Dean scowled at him. "I'm _fine_!"

"Only you haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately." Sam pondered this. "Maybe you should sleep in the back the rest of the way to Bobby's."

"I aint _tired_ Sam, but I _am_ gettin' pissed as hell!"

And Dr Hamon really finished him off by studying Sam's face closely and announcing: "Sorry, I just don't see the resemblance." Two sets of innocent eyes turned back whereupon John burst into loud laughter, Sam and Stephen just looked even more confused and Dean…

...Dean was slowly turning purple with embarrassment.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby Singer smiled broadly when he heard the low rumble of the truck, put down the carving knife, wiped his hands on a towel and made his way out front.

"Hey there old man; long time no see!" John climbed down from the cab and waved.

Bobby scowled. "Old man my ass." His craggy features softened on seeing the boys. Sam, squinting and blinking, eyes trying to focus, was being helped down from his seat by Dean. The older brother kept a firm grip on both Sam's hands, backing up slowly in case he took a tumble. A large white gauze bandage was taped to the side of his head and the kid seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

"How's the head Sam?"

Sam grinned and nodded slowly. "Feels like someone took a can opener to it - twice - but its fine otherwise."

Dean nudged his brother with an elbow. "Go on Sammy, show 'im. He's right over there, can ya see 'im?"

"Uhuh, just about." Sam did that squinting-blinking thing again so fast Bobby was sure his eyes would fall right out of his head. The boy took a few tentative steps forward, turned his head this way and that as if making sure where he was going and whom he was going to, and once he seemed confident Sam stood up straight, strode over to Bobby, and pulled the older guy into a hug.

"Good to see you again Uncle Bobby." Sam muttered softly.

"You too kid." Bobby replied kindly and pulled back to study the boy closely. "Ya lookin' tired though boy. You'll be getting a lotta sleep over the next few days and if I get any arguments..."

"Yeah I know," Sam grinned again, dimples showing. "You, Dad and Dean'll kick my ass right?"

Bobby chuckled. Given how Sam was gently swaying he didn't think the boy would put up much of a fight. He was obviously still in pain, his face white as a sheet, but he did seem happier than the last time Bobby clapped eyes on him.

"Sure hope you boys are hungry." Bobby reached over and grabbed a duffle bag from the back of the truck. "Gotta top side of beef in the roasting pan..."

Dean predictably reacted like a mere kat. "And all the trimmings?

"Dude I can't believe you're hungry again." Sam sighed heavily as they all trudged tiredly into the house. "I'm thinking we shoulda taken Stephen up on his offer." He waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "Get that old rubber glove action huh Dean?"

Dean stopped abruptly, glaring at Sam in disgust. "My God you're a pervert!" And Sam erupted with laughter.

When they eventually sat down, crammed round Bobby's kitchen table they were more than ready for food. Dinner wasn't exactly lively but everyone chewed contentedly, murmuring occasionally to ask for more gravy or pass the salt. Sam didn't hesitate to eat the succulent beef and John was immensely grateful; it had been way too long since he'd last seen his youngest son enthusiastic about food and to have witnessed it several times since he came out of hospital was definitely a good sign.

But things had been different of late. The brothers were getting on better, Sam and Dean being more open with each other, and John had even taken the time to sit down and _actually talk_ to Sam.

Turned out the kid was more than just troubled. Sam had little to no self-esteem, felt awkward every moment of the day, and the biggest problem, which came as a huge shock to his father, was the insomnia. Sam had been having trouble sleeping in the last sixth months, and it went unnoticed because his brother and father..._didn't_. He had no idea how to ask for help and felt ashamed he even needed to, so he kept it under wraps: _to suck it up and just get over it._ John thought long and hard about that and came to the worrying conclusion that was exactly what he would have told Sam to do.

But the biggest shock was yet to come. Sam grudgingly admitted to having given some serious thought to suicide and John had nearly broken down right then.

_Why Sammy?_

'_Cos I'm not like Dean. I'm not the son you really want._

_That's not true!_

_Isn't it? Tell me Dad, when was the last time I did anything right? When was the last time I did anything to make you proud of me?_

And John had no answers. Every time Sam made an accomplishment in the boys' hectic training schedule, it was always overshadowed by his older brother. Dean wasn't at fault for that; he was taller, stronger, faster, _older_, whilst Sam was still growing and trying to find his own strengths. And when John looked back over the years, he realised that he'd unfairly set Dean as the yard stick for his youngest child.

And that had to change. It had taken him long enough but their father was finally coming to see Sam as a person in his own right, and yeah, he was nothing like Dean.

And that, John realised as he watched his sons sprawled out asleep in front of Bobby's TV, was more than ok.

Smiling and moving with the grace and silence of a cat, John picked up the blanket draped across the back of the couch and tucked it round the boys, pausing briefly to stroke Sam's hair.

"It's gonna be different from now on Sammy, I swear it," he whispered softly, noting with tender amusement how Dean's arm was curled around his little brother's shoulders. "You make me proud every day kid. Ya both do."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

Obviously this story is bullshit in so many ways. Mainly because I'm pretty sure that once the insurance fraud was discovered, the boys would have been cut off from John immediately before he could even reach their room, not to mention the police/security would have had the emergency exits covered, and the truck probably would have been impounded…or something….

Anyway, if I'd written it like that it would have been an extremely short story so please forgive my bullshit.

And before anyone says anything, I'm well aware the episode of Buffy that Dean refers to is not quite in keeping with the boys' ages, in fact I'm not sure the series had even started back then – yes, I ignore the law, break the rules and mess around with time too! What can I say? The world loves a bastard!

Hope you enjoyed it and a Happy New Year to you all!

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	8. Fire

**I didn't Mean it**

_**Times Dean unintentionally hurt his little brother**_

_**Story 8**_

**Fire**

_**It's always a bad idea to eavesdrop and now he knows what his brother really thinks of him. But that's not only thing going on in the background...**_

_**Dean 17, Sam 13.**_

_**At the request of the very awesome Phx. Not exactly as you described but I hope you enjoy it sweetheart.**_

_**Warnings: The usual bad language, some small sexual content and what could be considered the early appearance of a Season 1 bad guy.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam cautiously opened the apartment door and peeked out, school pack looped over both shoulders for once, and prepared to make a run for it. The way was clear, no one was in the hallway and Creepy Onion Guy hadn't come out yet. Trying to calm his nerves and taking a deep breath he slid out, shut the door with a click loud enough to make him wince, and crept towards the stairwell.

Footsteps, a curious lurching gait with a slight dragging noise, sounded from behind and his mind screamed _movemovemovehe'scoming!!_

"Ah, young Samuel. And what mischief are you up to this morning?" A deep croaky voice like fingernails down a chalk board called out and Sam was yanked backwards by the scruff of his neck. "Spray painting the walls again? Gonna shove another turd in my mail box? Not very original you know."

He spun the kid round and grabbed his shirt front, pushing his crinkled old face right into Sam's, breathing the ever hateful fumes of raw onion over him. Sam swallowed down bile and shook his head. He always tried to be polite and friendly to his neighbours but it wasn't easy.

"It wasn't me Mr Caterham, I swear…" He pleaded, trying not to grimace in disgust. The old guy had a nasty addiction to cheese and onion sandwiches, though Sam was becoming more and more convinced Oliver Caterham was actually bathing in pure onion oil each night and the smell was growing more pungent each day.

Caterham gave Sam a hard, rough shake, practically rattling his teeth. "Don't lie to me boy!"

"I'm not lying…" Sam was cut off by a vicious slap to the face and shock that the guy had actually _hit _him kept his tongue still. He could feel his bottom lip beginning to swell and something warm spilled down his chin.

"Boys who tell lies go to a bad place! Didn't your mother ever tell you that?" Creepy Onion Guy hissed angrily.

Sam merely shook his head again, not bothering to mention he didn't have a mom. He could have defended himself, kicked out or something but really didn't want to hurt him. Caterham was clearly senile and tremendously paranoid, not that Sam could blame him given the way the local kids victimised the poor guy.

Oliver's face suddenly crumpled and huge tears welled up in his eyes. "Shouldn't lie to me. Why do you hate me? What I did ever do to you?"

Sam's heart nearly broke. "Nothing. You didn't do anything to me and I _don't_ hate you. I promise." He reached out a hand and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Even at such a young age Sam was horribly aware of what loneliness could do to a person, and eighty eight year old Oliver Caterham had obviously joined the ranks of its victims years ago.

"What did they do this time Mr Caterham?" Sam asked softly as the poor old man slowly released him. Something serious had to have happened; he'd never hit Sam before, merely threatened him and creeped him out from time to time.

Oliver sniffed morosely. "They hurt my Molly," he whispered, "threw stones at her, knocked her off the window ledge, broke her leg." His shoulders started shaking with grief.

"What?" Sam gasped out in astonishment and anger.

"She's just a cat!" Oliver cried, tears free falling. "She's all I got left since Rosy died. Why would they hurt her?"

Sam opened and shut his mouth at a complete loss, this sudden show of emotion knocking him for six. "I just don't know. I'm so sorry Mr Caterham," he said finally, helpless to understand.

Rosy had been Oliver's wife until she passed away some years ago, or so Sam's next door neighbour had explained to John one afternoon. There were plenty of gossips living in the apartment complex, which the Winchester's used to their advantage, but apparently not one single resident had the heart to check up on their elderly neighbour from time to time. In spite of his creepiness Oliver wasn't a bad guy, just extremely confused and sometimes forgot what he was saying or even who he was talking to.

Sam had been on his way to school before being accosted by the angry pensioner and was loathed to miss a single minute of class, but Oliver was in severe distress and Sam didn't like to think just what harm it could do to his heart.

"Come on Mr Caterham," Sam touched his arm and gently pulled the old guy back along the hall towards his apartment. "Let me make you some tea and you can tell me all about it, ok?"

Oliver sniffed and shuffled after Sam like an overgrown school child being comforted by his teacher. "Ok." He nodded.

Oliver's home was full of dusty ornaments, furniture that had seen better days, and cat hair. The owner of said hair lay forlornly on a ratty old couch, her leg in a white cast, mewling softly. She was black, long haired, with a small white patch on her nose and occasionally a tiny pink tongue poked through an uneven set of yellow teeth. There was a fairly even chance that as with her human counterpart she had breath that could kill a skunk.

"There there old girl, I'm back now." Sam watched as the old man headed over to his injured feline friend and gently scratched behind her ears. "She gets a little fussy when I'm not around." He explained, a sad smile completely changing his wrinkled and craggy face. Oliver was actually quite pleasant to look at when he wasn't frowning or shouting in fury.

Sam blinked back tears at the love and affection Oliver bestowed on his companion and wondered how anyone could have been so spiteful as to maim a harmless cat.

"I'll start making that tea." He turned towards the pokey little kitchen, thinking that maybe Mr Caterham wasn't so creepy after all.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So, you coming over to the den tonight?" A low husky voice spoke in his ear.

Dean turned from his locker to confront the very sweet and sexy Michelle Hargrove. His mouth twitched and formed a slow teasing smile as he leaned back, folding his arms, body language relaxed. "Maybe…but if you're gonna be there then _definitely_." No one could ever accuse Dean of being backwards at going forwards. He didn't mind games and the occasional chase was fun, but with the constant moving from state to state, sometimes several times in a month, there was little time for practising the art of seduction. Not that he needed any practice.

But this was different. The Winchesters had been living here about six weeks now and for the first time ever Dean had actually made some pretty cool friends, someone to hang out with other than his little brother. Sam was ok but Dean liked spending time with guys his own age, not to mention certain _girls_ his own age…

Michelle chuckled and winked at him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She moved in for the kill, hips pressing against his, her subtle fragrance surrounding him. "And _maybe_ we could have a little fun of our own…"

He grinned suddenly, that famous Dean Winchester smile blinding anyone that looked his way. "Fun of our own huh? Whatdya have in mind?"

Running a finger gently down his cheek, she stared deep into his eyes. "I'm rather partial to a game of _Twister_."

Raising an amused eyebrow Dean nodded slowly. "Baby we're gonna be _twisting_ alright."

Her responding grin matched his. "Glad to hear it!"

"Mr Winchester, Miss Hargrove, try to keep the horseplay _out_ of the school building. I don't want my younger students corrupted." Mr Petersen drawled out and Dean sighed heavily. Turned out the Principal was an alright guy which came as a huge shock to Dean when he first started at the school, but he had some annoying habits. One of which was the firm belief that Dean was a budding scholar and should try harder with his studies. It was disconcerting to actually meet a teacher who had _faith_ in him, let alone one that was the school's own principal.

As a consequence Dean found that he actually respected Mr Petersen and even more amazing so did his father. When John Winchester first met the teacher they hit it off immediately…

"_You son tells me you were in the Marine Corps." Petersen had shook John's hand enthusiastically. "Me too, though some years before your time I'm thinking."_

_John had laughed, defences partially lowered on meeting a fellow veteran._

Dean rolled his eyes at Michelle. "Sure. Sorry sir won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." The Principal at least sounded amused and didn't make a further issue out of it. He called out to the rest of the students aimlessly milling about and dawdling to their next class. "Now come on people, time and tide wait for no man! I want this corridor empty in ten seconds, starting now. Ten, nine, eight…"

"Catch ya later," Michelle murmured in that honeyed voice and with a lingering touch on Dean's arm moved passed him, hips swaying provocatively.

Dean blew out a breath and smirked to himself, trying hard not to watch her retreat. He was a sucker for long dark hair and pretty eyes, and Michelle more than fit the bill. She was independent, confident beyond her years and more than able to take on the likes of Dean Winchester.

_If we were staying here long term... who knows?_

With a cocky swagger he pushed away from the lockers and headed to his next class.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Oliver blinked at the tea cup held out to him by his young neighbour. He vaguely remembered speaking to the shaggy haired kid in the hall and now he was here…

_What was his name again? Ah yes, Samuel. Sweet boy. Always says hello to me. The only one who treats me like a human being these days…_

Shooting the boy a grateful smile he took the hot beverage, careful not to spill any. That was when he noticed the split lip and the blood.

"You should put some ice on that boy." He muttered then blinked again as another disturbing memory came back for him. "Oh Samuel! I'm so sorry! I've never hit a child before in my life…." To his own horror he started crying again.

The youngster immediately took the tea cup back and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"It's ok Mr Caterham, really." Samuel's voice was quiet and soothing to Oliver's frazzled nerves. He hadn't slept properly since Molly was hurt, ever fearful of what those kids would try next, and the constant bouts of confusion were becoming more frequent. He was a mess and dreaded to think what his dear Rosy would think if she could see him now.

Samuel was holding his hand, the first human touch he'd experienced since his wife died, and it startled him a little. He didn't pull away however, just sat there letting the boy look after him.

"It's ok." Sam whispered again. "You just got a little confused that's all. Could happen to anyone."

Sam felt his heart break just that little bit more as he observed the old guy wiping the tears from his face with a filthy handkerchief. The smell of onion was even stronger in here, but somehow it didn't matter when the poor man was lonely and wasting away in this shabby run down apartment, with only a disabled cat for company. It didn't seem much to show for nearly ninety years of life.

He glanced around and under the layers of dust stood an oak bookcase covered in black and white photos. Some were single shots of a handsome young man in army uniform and others were group photos.

"This your wife?" Sam asked carefully, not wanting to upset him any further. He pointed to one picture in a silver frame, the only photo that was kept clean and dust free. At Oliver's hesitant nod Sam smiled softly. "Wow. She was real pretty huh?"

"Yes….she was." Oliver got that faraway look in his eye as he recalled happier times.

"Tell me about her. How did you two meet?" Sam resolved to stay with him, figuring he could get Dean to forge a sick note from their Dad. School was important to Sam but he was a real softie when someone was hurting.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The 'den' was an old barn no longer in use and the not-so-secret location of a favoured teen hangout. Most parents didn't mind; it was a couple of miles out of town where no one would be disturbed by loud music and the three boys running it, almost like an after-school club, were usually pretty responsible.

Mark, Jack and Ed had inherited the place from their older siblings and it was considered by most kids a rite of passage into the adult world to be invited to a gathering. Michelle had known the boys since Kindergarten and therefore had an automatic invitation, which was graciously extended to Dean when they started dating. Everyone knew the relationship wasn't serious; Michelle wasn't up for that sappy teenage love drama crap anymore than Dean was which made her great fun to be around.

Dean suppressed a groan when Michelle, perched on his lap, gave a delicious little wriggle. "Stop that. Minx!" He whispered in her ear and she laughed that long low husky laugh.

"Down boy!" She whispered back. "Later!"

"You guys wanna beer?" Mark called out, head buried in a cool box. Ok, they were _mostly_ responsible teenagers, but it was St Patrick's Day and Mark was half Irish. At least it wasn't whiskey; they'd all agreed to draw the line at that.

Jack, always willing to push the envelope however, tore his gaze away from the video game. "Got any tequila?"

Mark sat up and glared at him. "Just what ya see dude. It was tough enough getting hold of these. I aint gunning for the hard stuff." He made a fake retching sound in his throat. "Tastes like shit anyhow!"

"Pussy." Jack chortled good naturedly and caught the can of beer aimed at his face.

"Where?" Ed, the least attractive of the small gang and the oldest, looked up from his own game controller in time for another beer can to come sailing across and thumping him on the side of his head. "Ow! You bastard that hurt!"

Dean grinned. "Looks like Mark aint the only one round here."

"Fuck off Winchester," Mark grumbled then threw a bag of Doritos at him. "Try not to choke on them."

"You're all heart dude." Dean replied and ripped open the pack. Michelle reached in, grabbing a large handful and began feeding him one at a time. But it was when he started licking the salt and spices from her fingers that the other boys objected loudly.

"Hey cut that out!"

"Yeah Dean, that's just nasty. You know my girlfriend can't make it tonight."

"Guess you're gonna have to kiss and make up with your right hand again." Dean snarked back. He'd hit it off easy with these guys and soon found he was enjoying their company immensely.

"I think it's hot."

Everyone shut up immediately and directed disbelieving gazes at Ed, who stopped what he was doing.

He bit his lip as the silence thickened. "I have _no_ idea why I said that." Another pause as he finally looked up and faced their scrutiny. "Dudes, I'm not gay!"

"Hey guys! You started the party without me. I'm crushed!" A cheerful voice broke the dead quiet as a tall figure loomed in the doorway.

"Come on in Callum." Mark offered him a beer. "Ed here was busy coming out so don't mind him…"

"Hey, did you hear what I said asshole?" Ed pointed to himself "Not gay! Alright? NOT gay."

"SO gay." Mark countered.

"Fuck you!"

"The lady doth protest too much." Michelle grinned in the face of Ed's fury. "Uh come on Ed. We're just messin' with ya." She got off Dean's lap and grabbed Ed up into a hug. "You know you're my favourite right?" Her eyes twinkled kindly as he ducked his head with a shy smile.

"Aw get off Mich." Ed shrugged her off but his cheeks were stained red with embarrassment and she ruffled his hair.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It was just the start of their friendship. After that Sam would spend a couple of hours with the old guy some evenings as well as most of his weekends. His Dad was out on local hunts with Uncle Bobby, Dean, whenever he wasn't tagging along with them, seemed to be spending all his free time with some girl called Michelle and his new buddies from school, leaving Sam with Oliver. It was a good match because Sam felt just as lonely as his elderly friend these days.

In spite of his dementia Oliver (Sam no longer referred to him as Creepy Onion Guy) was a highly intelligent individual and Sam enjoyed many long and interesting conversations during his more lucid moments. They played Chess, read the newspapers, and Sam always cooked him his favourite roast each Sunday. In return Oliver, a retired doctor of engineering as it turned out, would help Sam with his homework on the rare occasion he found a problem hard going.

Whenever Oliver had one of his 'moments' as they had both come to call it, Sam made the tea and sat down with him, holding his hand until the sorrow passed.

The local kids were still targeting the old man but to a lesser extent than before; of course it helped that Sam had outright threatened them with violence if they tried anything. He was tall for thirteen and his training coupled with having a hardass for a father meant Sam could cut quite the intimidating figure when he needed to. He recognised some of the kids from school, in particular one with a mean streak a mile wide who called himself Shark because he thought it was cool. Shark didn't scare Sam in the slightest; he was a coward and a bully for a start, not too bright but didn't seem to realise it, and on top of that he was little brother to one of Dean's friends. So Shark, pumped up with his own self-importance, obviously thought he was safe.

But when the new kid joined in the peace didn't last.

His name was Tommy Wilson and the tactics of the group soon changed.

The graffiti started up again, Oliver began receiving nasty phone calls and pretty soon they were targeting Sam. Always from a safe distance they taunted the young Winchester and Shark, in spite of his intellectual impairment had an uncanny aim, took great pleasure in throwing stones, then eventually rocks whenever Sam was seen leaving the building.

After a particularly nasty attack on leaving school, covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises Sam limped home in despair. He knew he was going to have to tell Dean about this because there was no way he could continue lying and covering up. The deep bruise along his cheekbone was a dead giveaway and explaining that he'd walked into a door just wasn't going to work.

He needed help and it was time to come clean.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Yeah….uhuh."

Dean's voice was resonating from the living room just as he opened the front door. Sam hung up his jacket and was about to head for the kitchen when he heard his name mentioned. Moving closer Sam stood on the other side of the door, keeping quiet.

"Nah…can't come out tonight. Have to look after my brother Sam." He heard Dean sigh in frustration. "Yeah, pain in the ass little shit that he is! Can't believe I got saddled with babysitting duties on a Friday night."

Sam froze heart pounding and eyes wide. His brother was obviously on the phone to one of his buddies and it seemed that Sam was the subject of the moment.

_Pain in the ass huh?_

"Dad was supposed to come home tonight but something came up….I know and I'm sorry Jack but he said I had to stay home with Sam, said he's getting sick or somethin'…"

Lowering his head, Sam stared at the carpet, almost mesmerised by the sickly green pattern.

_Why's Dean lying? I feel fine._

But that was neither here nor there.

…_pain in the ass little shit that he is! Can't believe I got saddled with babysitting duties on a Friday night._

His mind was reeling with hurt and disappointment, and he missed what was said next.

"…believe me I thought about it but he'll just whine away like a little girl and beg me to stay with him." Dean snorted. "For a thirteen year old he sure is a big baby. Just tell Michelle I'm sorry."

Sam couldn't listen to anymore and backed away, tears blurring his vision. Nearly tripping over his own feet, desperate to get away before Dean caught his whiny brother crying like a little girl, he scrabbled at the door latch, wrenched it open and ran. Some small part of him heard Dean calling out his name but he ignored it.

"_Sammy wait…"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean had just finished the call when he heard a scuffling noise nearby. Dashing into the hall he caught a glimpse of his brother's back disappearing out the apartment in a hurry and knew instantly what had happened.

_Oh shit!_ "Sammy wait…"

He thought about going after him but figured it was better to let him calm down first. Trying to explain a complicated situation to an emotionally hurt and distraught Sam was a waste of time. Dean wasn't sure how much his brother had heard but it couldn't have been pretty and he winced at some of the things he'd said over the phone about him.

The fact was Dean didn't want to go out tonight. The gang were hitting a night club over in the next town, one that Dean had incidentally been kicked out of some weeks ago for being underage. The false ID hadn't fooled the bouncer one bit and Dean was disappointed to be faced with one that actually had a brain. In his view it totally went against nature and more importantly spoiled his fun.

It wasn't something he wanted to own up to, not with a hot sophisticated chick like Michelle. He planned to spend the evening with Sammy, ordering pizza and watching some TV especially as they hadn't seen much of each other in the last few weeks, so he'd spun a few lies, said some shit about his little brother, and now he had no date, was all alone on a Friday night and Sam was deeply hurt.

_Damnit!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam ran headlong into Oliver almost knocking him over.

"Samuel!" He gently gripped Sam's upper arms and studied the youngster's face streaked with tears, eyes narrowing when he spied the bruise on his cheek. "What's wrong son? And please tell me I didn't do that to you."

Sam shook his head furiously. "Wasn't you. I just…I…" and couldn't hold back the sobs as he stuttered out "I think my brother hates me."

Oliver, relieved he wasn't in the midst of one of his 'moments', got the feeling there was more to this so before he could get all judgemental about Dean hitting his younger brother, he nodded. "Come on. It's my turn to make the tea." And guided the kid into his living room.

Sam looked utterly miserable as the old guy gently pushed him down onto the couch and offered him a box of Kleenex. Taking one and wiping away his tears, the boy sniffed loudly.

"Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Sam didn't mention about the rock throwing; Oliver felt guilty enough as it was for getting him involved in his problems. Predictably he covered with the 'walking into a door' routine which the old guy clearly didn't believe.

"When I got home Dean was talking to someone on the phone about me. He said some stuff…and…I didn't realise he felt that way." Sam gazed at his friend sadly as he repeated what he'd heard and Oliver listened intently.

When he was finished Sam slumped against the sofa back, slowly sipping at his tea.

"Samuel, for one so young you are very mature and wise, but at the end of the day you _are_ still a child." Oliver noted Sam's questioning frown. "Do you really believe that's what your brother thinks of you?"

Sam shrugged. "Why would he say it otherwise?"

Oliver smiled at that. "And that's just my point. Think about it for a while and then maybe you should go back and talk to him, let him know how it made you feel. Give him the chance to explain."

Sam looked away. "Maybe." He answered in a small voice, for once sounding like the vulnerable thirteen year old he really was.

"No maybe about it my young friend."

Sam smiled through his tears. "Thanks Oliver."

"After everything you've done for me Samuel, it's the least I could do."

It was true in Oliver's eyes. Everything seemed a little brighter since Sam Winchester came into his life. Even the dingy apartment felt different, especially since Sam had taken it upon himself to clean and scrub the walls, wash the curtains, and polish the furniture. He could see out the windows and the sunshine was now allowed in.

The sound of something cracking against those windows drew his attention and before he could get out of his seat the glass smashed and a large rock came sailing through, catching Sam on the side of his head. The boy didn't know what hit him and slumped unconscious on the couch, blood running down his face.

"Samuel!" Oliver gasped just as something else was thrown through the gaping hole in the glass. Something that started fizzing and popping and within seconds a fierce blaze developed on the carpet, spreading and eating hungrily at anything in its path. The fire alarm was triggered but not soon enough for Oliver's happiness.

"Oh my God!"

Oliver was lame and old, and Sam was out for the count. He couldn't react quickly enough; pulling the boy into his arms and trying to protect him from the heat, the crackling flames grew higher and cut off their only chance of escape by attacking the main entrance to the room.

He tugged Sam down onto the carpet, trying to stay low and keep from breathing in the smoke, but it was a fruitless task. Oliver was already starting to feel light headed and sick as he was quickly overcome by the fumes, and the heat from the fire scorched him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Someone was knocking at the door.

_Maybe Sam's come back but he forgot his key,_ Dean thought hopefully as he lifted the latch. But it wasn't.

"Mich? What you doin' here?" He blinked at her leaning against the doorframe and somehow knew he'd been caught out.

"I'm impressed. You're a good liar Dean, but I'm better." Michelle smiled sadly. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth? If you don't wanna see me anymore…"

Dean was already shaking his head in denial. "No! God no, not that."

"I mean, I knew this was just a little fun…" she looked puzzled as he continued to deny it.

Dean sighed. "You better come in."

Half an hour later and Michelle felt convinced she was fully equipped with the truth.

"Oh Dean…"

"Yeah Mich, I fucked up big time."

"Poor Sam. Maybe…"

And the fire alarm suddenly started shrieking out making them both jump. After about a few seconds Dean could smell smoke and hear the wailing of sirens.

"Come on let's get out of here!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the apartment. Michelle stumbled after him into the hallway and they were both hit with smoke as it poured out underneath the door further down from the Winchester's apartment. The other residents of that floor were panicking and running, some screaming and shouting but no one stopped to help old Oliver Caterham.

Dean knew that Sam had befriended Creepy Onion Guy and didn't know the full story, hadn't really paid it much attention, but as the door caught his eye a nasty feeling rose unbidden in his mind.

"Mich you go on ahead."

She stopped and stared at him. "Are you crazy? That smoke is lethal!"

Dean nodded. "I know, but I think Sam's in there. I can't leave him."

Michelle didn't question his instinct, one thing she'd learned about Dean in the short time she'd known him was that his intuition was strong and once he made up his mind he couldn't be budged. "Fine but I'm staying."

"What? NO!"

"You got time to argue?" Michelle was already leading the way into the smoke, holding an arm over her mouth and nose. "Besides, you might some need help getting them both out."

The wooden door was blistering and cracking and it wouldn't take much to bring it down, but Dean was now terrified with what might be behind it. A back draft was the least of his worries, caring little for his own safety, but if Sam was indeed inside the apartment then that was bad news.

Worse than bad. _Dire._

Michelle stood back as Dean raised his foot and aimed a powerful kick at the door, ducking quickly the second it gave way.

_Jesus!_

Visibility was beyond poor and flames licked at the ceiling, furniture and something laying on the floor by what might have been a couch before it was burnt to a crisp.

Michelle gasped. "Oh God! Dean you can't…it's gone too far…"

"Sammy?" Dean yelled and battled his way through fire and thick smoke, wincing and cursing in pain. He had to speed up, already feeling overwhelmed as his lungs protested against the abuse. The shape on the floor turned out to be Oliver, his clothes charred and skin scorched, body curled protectively around something…or some_one_.

"Sam!" His brother's face was pushed into the carpet by the old guy who had kept the worst of the smoke and fire at bay, but that defence was quickly failing. Dean slid both arms under his kid brother's body, raising him up and pulling Sam's head against his chest, preparing to move. But the smoke had thickened in such a short time and he couldn't see the way out.

"Mich where are you?!" He screamed out.

"Right by the door, hurry Dean the hallway's on fire."

"Can't see…." He choked and felt his head swimming. "Get out…"

Dean just about heard her rude reply and used it as a guide. Eyes streaming, soot clinging and the heat of the fire burning without even touching him, Dean staggered onwards, hoping and praying he was going in the right direction.

_If not…if I've got this wrong…we're so screwed._

Michelle kept shouting to him, getting louder above the roaring flames as he moved closer to freedom. Her voice was joined by someone else and there seemed to be water everywhere. Just before the lights went out Dean wondered if he was having some kind of smoke-fuelled hallucination.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Michelle watched anxiously from behind her own oxygen mask as the paramedics worked on the Winchester brothers. Dean had lost consciousness just outside the apartment and she'd dragged him and his brother the rest of the way towards the stairwell, until a firm hand on her arm pulled her back. Finally overcome by the fumes she'd also passed out and woken up in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket, with the chief fire officer glaring at her furiously. He didn't give her much of a chance to explain, just started lecturing her on fire safety and how it was important to _vacate the premises when a fire alarm goes off you crazy child! You could have been killed!_

She couldn't really argue for two reasons. One. He was quite right, and Two. The fire chief in question was actually her Dad.

However, the glowing pride in his eyes took some of the sting out of his anger but she had more important things to worry about.

"Dad…" she croaked, her throat sore from smoke and all the shouting. "Dean…Sam…they gonna be ok?"

He stopped his ranting and softened his voice when he realised his daughter was going into shock. "Honey you let us worry about them, now relax and just take it easy."

"N..no…Dad, have to kn-know…"

His stubborn young daughter wasn't going to let it go and he owed her the truth.

"Dean's on oxygen therapy and apart from some minor burns he's going to be fine, but Sam…" Her father's voice trailed off and he watched her red rimmed eyes fill with fresh tears. "Looks like he hit his head on something and when we got him out the kid wasn't breathing."

"Oh God Dad…"

He was quick to reassure her. "Sam's alive for now, but he's been put on a ventilator."

There was more bad news to come but he didn't think she needed to hear about the charred remains they'd found in that room shortly after rescuing the three youngsters. The fire was out, the entire building condemned as unsafe, and many of the residents had already been taken to various hotels in the area. The forensics teams were anxiously chomping at the bit, raring to go in and examine the damage, and the police were waiting to start the interviews.

Michelle shivered under the blanket and prayed that Sam would survive. She didn't know the kid very well but Dean had often talked about him and it was obvious how much he loved his little brother.

A commotion broke out nearby and a loud angry voice proclaiming to be John Winchester demanded to see his sons.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean came awake with a painful cough and tried to sit up, smarting eyes already seeking his brother.

"S..sssaammmy…"

"Easy son, just breathe."

Dean blinked up at his father crouched beside him. "Dad? W-where's S-Sam?"

Something akin to sadness crossed John's face as shifted slightly to his left and spoke quietly. "He's right here Dean."

Dean looked across the ambulance and gasped at the state of his little brother. Blood mixed with soot made him almost unrecognisable and there was something sticking out of his mouth.

"Sammy…" He tried once more to sit up but John gently restrained him. Giving up with a sigh and fingering his oxygen mask, Dean slumped in defeat. "How bad is it?"

"He's alive, but he needs help with his breathing." John answered, still keeping his voice soft. "You both suffered a few burns but nothing that won't heal." He smiled.

Dean stared at his sleeping brother worriedly. "Sam _will_ heal, won't he Dad?"

John sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, choosing his words carefully. "Sam's tough. He won't give up without a fight." He was filled with dismay when his oldest son started crying.

"Dad…I really hurt him…supposing he dies…thinks I meant it all…I didn't. I swear I never meant a word of it!"

John frowned. "Sorry kiddo, you aint making much sense here. Meant what exactly?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Mark was watching some old re-runs of Hunter when his little brother stumbled through the door, smelling of smoke and trembling in shock. Mark had decided against going to the night club with the rest of the gang, fearing he'd already pushed his parents too far as it was after being so late home on a school night earlier in the week. So with most of the gang having withdrawn, the whole trip was called off.

"Matthew what the hell?"

"Mark…I…" His kid brother stammered and stuttered so badly that Mark couldn't understand a word.

"Hey, just slow it down alright? Take some deep breaths."

Matthew did as he was told and the fact he hadn't exploded at Mark for not using his pathetic nickname was a real sign that trouble was afoot.

Eyes wet with tears stared up at his older brother. "We were messing about, making fun of that old guy. Ya know? That one Dean's brother goes to see."

Mark nodded not liking the sound of this. "Go on."

"Uh…well…look I threw the rock at the window ok? I admit that. But I didn't throw the firework. That was Tommy." Matthew pleaded with his brother. "We never meant it to go that far but…the fire…it spread so damn fast…"

"What?!" Mark was on his feet, fists clenched at his sides to stop himself from wringing Matthew's neck. "I told you to _leave that guy alone!_"

"I know. But Tommy…he just takes things to the next level." Matthew sniffed miserably. "What started out as fun always got out of hand; I never wanted to go along with it. I mean I hurt his cat but that was an accident…I just don't _get it._"

"You stupid, selfish little _bastard!_" Mark loomed over the kid, barely holding on to his temper. "I oughta beat the living shit outta ya!"

"There's more." Matthew flinched at the hard, angry gleam in his brother's eyes. "When the fire spread the others took off but I waited around. The Winchester brothers were hurt in the fire. And that old guy…_I think he's dead._"

Mark glared at him and Matthew didn't think he'd ever seen his brother quite so furious.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam slowly, so slowly opened his eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. It sure wasn't the bedroom ceiling he shared with his brother that much he knew. It was white rather than a dirty, depressing grey and there was no giant water stain that looked like a map of Australia.

"Sammy?"

That voice was familiar though and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to talk to its owner. However he had a few pressing questions that needed answering, beginning with…

"Why's m'throat hurt?" Sam rasped out.

A soft sigh met his ears and the bed dipped slightly, bringing Dean's worried face into view. "You spent a few days on a vent."

Sam frowned. "Huh?"

"There was a fire Sam, in our building." Dean saw his brother's eyes widen. "You don't remember do you?"

"No…last thing I recall is sitting in Oliver's apartment…" Sam swallowed nervously "…talking 'bout you…I…heard what you said."

"I didn't mean any of it Sammy," Dean's voice broke with misery and a lone tear rolled down his face. "I'm so sorry you had to hear that kiddo; didn't mean to hurt you like that…God Sam you almost _died_."

"What happened?" Sam looked somewhat shell shocked and little wonder.

"We were kinda hoping you could tell us that." Dean watched him carefully. "The fire started in Oliver's living room. The fire chief thinks it was some kind of pyrotechnic."

"A firework?" Sam was frowning again.

"Yeah." Dean reached out and stroked the gauze covering Sam's head injury. The flashbacks over the last few days had been terrifying, reminding him of the first time he'd carried Sam out of a building wracked with fire. "Someone came forward, Mark's brother. Said some kid called Tommy threw the firework up at the window."

"I…I remember a sharp pain in my head but after that it's a blank." Sam winced and coughed.

"That would be the sizeable rock Matthew AKA Shark threw up first." Dean helped him into a sitting position to ease his breathing. "Must've knocked you out cold. You were still unconscious when I found you."

"When you found me?" Sam blinked at him. "What do you mean by that? Where was Oliver?"

Biting his lip to keep it from trembling, Dean took a breath. "Oliver was protecting you from the fire. I think the fire spread so quickly it cut off your exit and he couldn't get out in time, 'cos I got burned fighting my way to you…"

"Dean…" Tears filled Sam's eyes, breath caught in his chest. "What happened to him? I mean…he's alive right? Dean?"

"No Sammy." His brother answered softly. "He didn't make it. Oliver died from smoke inhalation as he was shielding you." Dean couldn't _wouldn't_ ever tell Sam that the poor old guy had been burned beyond recognition by the time the fire fighters managed to get to him.

"No…NO!" The kid drew his knees up under the blanket and began rocking to and fro, body shaking with hoarse sobs. "He can't be…he just _can't!_"

They had plenty more to talk about but right now Sam was on the verge of a break down.

Dean wrapped Sam up in his arms, trying not to wince as the movement pulled on his own injuries, and muttered softly in his brother's ear "Let it out kiddo, just let it all out."

They sat like that for a long while, the soft beeping of the heart monitor and Dean's comforting mantra the only noise in the room, and Sam eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The police threatened to arrest John several times if he didn't calm down. Twice he'd run into Tommy Wilson in custody, once as the boy was being lead away into an interview room and the second time when he was being transported to a juvenile detention centre. The kid had no sense of remorse and sneered at John both times, shouting obscenities about his sons. That was when the police found out about the obsessive persecution of Oliver Caterham, and to John's astonishment, of his youngest son by association.

Mark's brother couldn't have been more cooperative in helping the law to nail his former friend, admitting to all counts of abusive behaviour including throwing stones at Sam. His parents apologised profusely for their son's actions, offering to pay for Sam and Dean's medical expenses. Matthew was to undergo a psychiatric evaluation and community service, a light sentence in exchange for providing the names of any other's involvement. There were another two names to add to the list and those kids were picked up immediately for questioning.

But the Winchesters were in for another shock. Two days after Tommy was taken to the detention centre his body was found on the floor of his room with no obvious cause of death identified. John had used his _investigative skills_ to obtain a copy of the police and coroner's report, his blood running cold when he read the second paragraph.

…_traces of sulphur were discovered on the window ledge and on the body; members of staff reported hearing loud screaming coming from the deceased's room but by the time they got the door unlocked the child had already expired. Cause of death not clear but there were signs of self-harm and blood work showed more traces of sulphur and illegal narcotics…_

John stared at the report, reading it over and over. Then he handed it to Bobby Singer who regarded him with a raised eyebrow and turned away. After a few minutes of rustling pages he heard the other hunter give a low whistle of amazement.

"The kid was possessed?"

John nodded grimly. "Yep, Tommy was innocent." He hung his head. "Damnit Bobby! I shoulda known. I coulda _helped_ him!"

Bobby shook his head. "Chances are he was too far gone. He probably died as soon as the demon released him, had no further use for him." He scratched his head. "And that would've been when the kid was locked up."

"Possibly," John conceded the point with little grace. "But the question is why would a demon target Oliver Caterham? He was just some harmless old man with a few screws loose."

"He was already being victimised but when Sam came along things got a whole lot worse." Bobby stared hard at him. "I don't think Oliver _was_ the target…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy _please_ eat something." Dean was extremely worried about his little brother. Sam was withdrawn and depressed, barely speaking unless spoken to, even when John and Bobby were in the room. He guessed he couldn't blame him after what happened but still…

Sam stared at the porridge without really seeing it, his voice a little distant as he spoke. "What was that phone call about Dean? The one where you…" he didn't finish the sentence but Dean knew what he was asking.

"I wondered when you were going to bring that up." Dean smiled apologetically. "It wasn't about you Sam, I promise."

He launched into the whole story of avoiding the night club, how he'd been thrown out and didn't want his friends to know. It now sounded so stupid and lame to Dean's ears and he wished like hell he could turn back time.

"I'm sorry Sam." Dean ducked his head in shame once he'd finished.

"Oliver said it would be something like that." Sam finally responded after a small silence. "I should've given you a chance to explain."

Dean looked up at him sadly. "He was quite a guy wasn't he?"

Sam took in a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah. He was." But he shot Dean a grateful smile. "But so are you. You came and got me out and nearly killed yourself doing it." Sam tilted his head to the side. "How did you know where I was?"

"I just knew." His brother shrugged, a little embarrassed by Sam's compliment; he didn't feel like he deserved it after hurting the kid so badly. Another one of those brief silences descended as the brothers thought about that. "Listen Sam, why didn't you tell me what was going on? I mean with those other kids?" Dean asked gently, trying not to stare at the bruise on Sam's cheek. "I would've helped ya know."

Sam shrugged this time. "I was going to the day of the fire but that phone call kinda sidetracked me. And we hadn't exactly been spending much time together; I thought…well. Doesn't matter."

"Shit. This is all my fault." Dean huffed angrily. "If I'd just gone after you…"

"If you'd gone after me then Oliver would've died alone, Dean." Sam gazed at him, sadness casting deep shadows in his eyes. "At least I was with him right up 'til the end even if I _was_ unconscious."

Dean glared back. "That's a damn shitty way of lookin' at it Sam! You were nearly killed!"

Sam didn't react to the outburst, seeing it for what it was. Dean's fear masquerading as anger was just his way of dealing.

Instead he answered "So were you. Gotta find a silver lining in this somewhere," Sam paused to wipe at the moisture in his eyes "'cos if I don't then I aint gonna get through it."

Dean had no response to that.

"Maybe this little darling can help you out there," the boys looked up in surprise to find Michelle standing in the doorway holding an elderly black cat. "I found her roaming around the ruins probably looking for her master. Her collar had an ID, said she lived with Oliver Caterham. Poor thing."

"Molly?" Sam held out his arms when Michelle brought the cat over to the bed. "What happened to her cast?"

"Came off yesterday when I took her to the vets. She's good and strong again." Michelle smiled when the cat went straight to Sam, burying her nose in the boy's familiar scent. "She remembers you."

"Yeah." Sam murmured softly to the distraught feline. "I'm so sorry Molly. You lost everything, your home, your only family…" he held Molly up to gaze into her eyes, "I wish we could take you in but we can't. We'll be moving on soon and that aint a good life for a kitty."

"Don't worry Sam." Michelle spoke up again; she knew about the Winchester's nomadic lifestyle, having only tentatively swallowed the 'my dad's a travelling salesman' line. She wasn't stupid and knew when to leave it alone. "I sweet talked Daddy into letting me keep her." She beamed at the happy smile on the kid's face. "It won't be the same but she's going to a good home."

"Thank you Michelle." Sam suddenly became very shy, and began scratching Molly under her chin until she was purring contentedly. "And not just for Molly, but for risking your life to help my brother get me out. If you hadn't stayed and kept shouting for him."

"No need to thank me kiddo. I'm just glad you're both alright." Michelle grasped Sam's free hand and squeezed gently.

"And in any case I'm gonna be doin' a _lot_ of thanking before we leave." Dean reached round with both arms and pulled her back against his chest, growling in her ear.

Sam rolled his eyes in part amusement and disgust. "Leave it to Dean to lower the tone."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"You think it'll come back? Cause more trouble?" Bobby asked as they drove to the hospital some days later. In between visiting the boys Bobby and John had been attempting to track down the demon but to no avail. The damn thing had just upped and disappeared.

"More than likely." John clenched his teeth angrily. "No mentioning this in front of the boys. No point in scaring them more than necessary; they been through enough."

Bobby stared at him in utter amazement. "You're serious! John they need to know if you wanna keep 'em alive!"

But John stuck firmly behind his decision. "When they're older maybe I'll tell 'em. I can keep the boys safe easy enough if I just stay close and not go runnin' off on hunts without 'em. But for now just drop it."

End of discussion.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So whatdya think?" Jack swept his arm out with a flourish and Sam laughed.

"It's like home from home."

The 'den' welcomed Sam into its fold as an honorary member after Dean had asked on the quiet. His kid brother needed cheering up and the Winchesters were leaving at the end of the week.

"Cool games consol!" Sam burst out excitedly, obviously itching to have a go. "How do you get power for it out here?"

Ed grinned and gladly handed over another controller. "Place is still connected up to the mains supply; my Dad owns this land but he doesn't use it for anything."

Dean smiled at the look of utter concentration on his brother's face as the video game progressed, and once again silently thanked his Dad for insisting they stayed on until they were both healed. Their father stayed close these days, never leaving his sons for very long and most certainly didn't go off without them on a hunt. If he didn't know better Dean would have said something was going on there, but whenever he brought it up John just shrugged in a _don't know what you mean_ kind of way.

"Hey there!" Small delicate hands wound round his waist and soft lips caressed his neck. "Have you put anymore thought into how we're gonna say goodbye?"

Dean chuckled and turned to face Michelle. "Sure have sweetheart." His eyes slipped upwards, silently indicating the hay loft. "How 'bout we start practicing for the main event."

She laughed softly as he slapped her gently on the rear end and the two of them disappeared up the ladder, leaving Sam being thoroughly entertained by Jack, Mark and Ed. They'd grown to love the kid like one of their own and Dean knew Sam would be fine. Jack was paying particularly close attention to the youngest Winchester, anxious to make him feel welcome after feeling his own guilt over that dreaded phone call

_We're all gonna be fine._

Parked about two hundred yards down the road, John sat in the Impala drinking coffee and waiting for the boys' curfew to roll around. He'd spent every spare minute of his time trying to trace the demon and became evermore convinced of its connection to Mary's death, that it was meant to be some kind of test. Trouble was he had no proof; it was gut instinct talking and the problem with gut instinct was it didn't talk the same language and was often way too cryptic.

All he could do was wait it out but that same gut instinct told him it would be some years yet before things became clear. Until then he had to keep his boys safe at all costs and that meant not letting them out of his sight, because the fire that claimed Oliver Caterham's life nearly took Sam and Dean along with him. Since then John often woke up in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf at the very _thought_ of how close it had been.

It was time to step up the boys' training.

It was time to tighten up their defences.

John stared out into the evening sky, hearing distant joyful laughter coming in through the open window, and sighed regretfully.

_I'd give anything just to hear that more often._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

Perhaps it's just me but there's a strange feeling to this story and I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe my thoughts and feelings about my own current situation have bled out into the fic without being aware of it.

I'm keen to hear if anybody else experiences this with their fics.

I thought about writing the goodbye sequence between Dean, Sam and their new friends but there are already so many sad aspects to this story that I just couldn't bring myself to add another.

As usual, this is totally made up and I don't profess to know anything about laws and ordinances etc, so I apologise if anyone's sitting out there fuming at my ignorance.

Hope you enjoyed that boys and girls!

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	9. Harder To Breathe

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times Dean unintentionally hurts his brother.**_

_**Harder To Breathe**_

_**Story 9**_

_**Title taken from the track by Maroon 5**_

**In the aftermath of John Winchester's death, Dean isn't the only one struggling with his grief; shut out by his brother, Sam's issues mount up, triggering off a dangerous attack that quite literally steals his breath. Early Season 2.**

_**For Mollieclark who once asked for an asthmatic Sam story.**_

_**Probably shouldn't be part of this series but I thought ah bugger it. Why not?**_

_**Also for the lovely Sendintheclowns 'cos this is very much her territory.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam stared at his brother, silently pleading for a response and maybe some comfort…_anything_. But he was sadly disappointed.

After his sombre little speech, admitting his guilt, his worry that their father died believing Sam hated him, what he was doing was _too little, too late_, Dean stayed silent and sullen, eyes hard, barely a glimpse of emotion in those green depths.

Pursing his lips and sniffing lightly, Sam looked away, nodded slowly and took his leave. Dean obviously needed time to digest it all and Sam wasn't sure he could even stand to look at him anymore. The harsh condemnation in Dean's eyes was thrusting viciously at Sam's soul like the sharpest of blades, laying his heart to waste.

Now hidden by the endless array of rusting relics, ambassadors to late twentieth century motoring, Sam halted his progress towards Bobby Singer's house. He didn't need to turn back to know what was happening behind him, just listened to the sound of his brother's anger; over and over, as something was repeatedly smashed and pummelled by his brother's hand, perhaps wishing it was Sam's own skull. It was hard to tell these days; Dean had closed himself off, refusing to talk, to share, to grieve.

But it wasn't until the accompanying grunts of exertion between each strike turned to growls and eventually angry yells, that the subtle tightness in Sam's chest suddenly wasn't so subtle anymore.

He stumbled forward, sweating palms scrabbling frantically at a beaten up old Camaro lying on its side, in need of support, gasping, the air wheezing in and out of Sam's rapidly constricting airway.

_Can't be happening…thought I was passed this…hasn't been a problem in years…_

Not even the night Jess died. Not during the vision of Dean's brains flying out the back of his head courtesy of Max, not when he was losing Dean to an electrocution by his own stun gun.

He fumbled in his jean pockets.

_Gotta be here somewhere…_

Panic set in when it became apparent that it wasn't, and then something came back to him. It was destroyed in the wreck weeks back and he hadn't bothered to replace it, hadn't really thought much of it at the time.

Sam had woken up, dressed and winced at the stiffness of his bloodstained garments, discharged himself AMA and went in search of his family. The hand in his pocket had encountered broken pieces of a blue plastic salbutamol inhaler and dumped them in the nearest sharps container, along with the small cylindrical aerosol. Perhaps he'd intended to ask for another at the time, but now he couldn't remember. So much went on in such a short space of time, and the final chapter, finding his father dead on the floor had been overwhelming. Dean was there, alive and recovering, and Sam could survive it.

But not now. Dean wasn't here anymore, having disappeared into his own dark retreat leaving Sam lost, lonely and afraid.

..._plans for you Sammy, and all the other children like you..._

The long-forgotten tingling started up in his fingers just as his vision dimmed, and the chest tightness grew swiftly, as unforgiving as Dean's hard cold glare now forever stamped in Sam's memory.

_Get a grip…can't do this now…_

Turning so his back was against the old rust heap, he slid downwards until his ass thumped heavily in the dust, and he firmly chastised himself.

_Come on, get it together, calm down, just breathe…_

How long he sat there was of little consequence but by the time Sam was fully composed the sun was wobbling low in the sky, turning the clouds a mess of reds and pinks. His brother chose that moment to appear, his usual relaxed gait thrumming with ill-repressed tension. Sam gazed at him through bloodshot eyes desperately searching for a glimpse of the Dean that came for him at Stanford, the cocky swagger, the _fart in the face of death and shit in the hands of Satan_ approach to life that was the essential trademark of Dean Winchester.

Not this Dean though. This Dean walked right passed his little brother with barely a glance, just walked right on, not even pausing to wonder why Sam was slumped dejectedly against the roof of some old wreck.

Tears threatened but Sam held them back, staring determinedly into the fading evening light, jaw stubbornly clenching, nostrils slightly flared.

His own Winchester trademark.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead, unknowingly taking tears with it. The crowbar, thoroughly used for the wrong purpose, lay abandoned on the ground nearby. He glared at the dents and gouges in the trunk lid as though expecting an answer, but the twisted tortured metal remained infuriatingly silent.

_What the hell does he want from me?_

_I love you Sammy, always have, but I can't…I just can't right now._

Biting down hard on his lower lip to keep it from trembling, Dean sniffed loudly, ignoring the fresh tears pooling in his eyes.

_How could you leave? After telling me I might have to kill my own brother…__**how could you?!**_

Their father had done something. Dean was dying and John Winchester had done something to stop it, _reverse_ it, losing his life in the process. _As a consequence. _And Dean was positive that yellow eyed sonofabitch was involved.

As if that wasn't enough he'd taken his brother to task over it, when Sam had no idea what he'd done wrong. And Dean couldn't tell him. Not yet.

_I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. Its like, "Oh, what would Dad want me to do?" Sam, you spent your entire life sluggin' it out with that man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him, and now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. It's too little, too late._

He knew what he was doing, taking it out on the one person who didn't deserve it. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be; Dean wanted to take back his words but he'd forced them down his younger brother's throat, watched him choke on them as the guilt in Sam's eyes spiralled out of control, and _did fuck all to help him._ And since when had rubbing someone's nose in the shit helped anything anyway?

Dean could answer that one all on his own: since _never_.

The ruined Impala squatted forlornly in the salvage yard as though sharing Dean's pain. Never again would John Winchester drive or otherwise sit beside him. Fleeting memories of his dad's smile, the flash of white teeth haunted him…

"_Thanks for this Dad."_

_John smiled widely. "Gotta get your licence someday, might as well start now huh?" handing over the keys he added "Just don't hurt my baby ok? She's still new to me."_

_Dean smoothed his fingers lovingly over the steering wheel. "You know I won't Dad."_

Yeah, Sam and Dean weren't the only ones who'd lost something precious during their flight from the cabin. It was stupid but the Impala had always been John's, even after he gave the car to Dean on his birthday, Dean still thought of it as his dad's car. But maybe it was time to change that. Perhaps it was time he started _really _thinking of it as _his _baby.

He wasn't at peace, it would be a long time before that happened if ever, but some of the pent up anger and guilt had broken away, leaving him raw and shaky.

His stomach growled, a reminder that he hadn't fulfilled his obligations in that department, and headed back to the house, eyes already watching out for the kitchen window, wondering if chilli was on the menu tonight.

_Sure hope so._

Trudging tiredly through the maze of stacked elderly cars, Dean really wasn't paying attention, didn't spot his brother lurking nearby until it was too late and when he did the anger returned. A small part of him was touched at Sam's concern but frustration made him pick up his pace and stomp passed, not even acknowledging the younger shadow in his quest for food and silence.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean and Bobby sat at the kitchen table, slurping on overfilled spoons of hot chilli. Sam wasn't present, having shied off with a headache. Dean shrugged. Sam always was fussy about spicy foods and in any case that meant more for Dean.

He didn't believe the headache excuse for a minute but didn't question it, merely suggested Sam get on with researching for their next gig. Again his guilt rebelled at treating his brother like some kind of slave, but Sam needed something to keep his mind occupied. The kid had nasty habit of over-thinking things which generally lead to a _real_ headache for Dean, and more probably a fight. Neither brother needed that right now.

Two bowls of chilli, some washing up and many loud belches later, Dean went in search of some light entertainment in the form of the dusty old porno mags stacked neatly in some long forgotten corner of Bobby's library. He'd discovered the small treasure trove late one night during a bad bout of insomnia and had gone on the prowl.

Flipping through one of the more elderly editions – _March 1969_ – Dean had chuckled to himself.

_Bobby you sly old perv._

But he kept the find a secret, his small break from reality and a somewhat quieter release of his emotions than the earlier attack on the helpless and innocent Impala.

Almost at the library door, Dean stopped on hearing movements coming from the other side and swore silently. Debating whether or not to retreat back to the kitchen, Dean's eyes narrowed when the noises changed alarmingly.

Someone was struggling to breathe.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam wasn't hungry. Hadn't been for a long time and somehow doubted he ever would be again. Didn't matter anyhow; if he starved to death then it was one less mouth to feed and Dean could go his sweet merry way without a little brother clinging on like the worst kind of possessive girlfriend.

Turning down Bobby's offer to save him some chilli and ignoring the worriedly raised shaggy eyebrows, Sam returned to the library.

He stretched his long body, fingers almost grazing the ceiling, and yawned. Tired and weary didn't begin to cover how he felt, but Dean was right. He had work to do. Shifting several stacks of tomes and grimoires, sorting through various journals, Sam was scribbling notes nineteen to the dozen, his mind a whirl with theories and ideas. But something was missing…

He suddenly clicked his fingers. "Where was it? I saw it somewhere…"

Sam padded barefoot over to an old bureau with a sliding glass display book case. The glass was long gone of course, the wood scarred and disfigured by years of abuse, and the old books inside weren't in much better shape. Pulling on the largest hardback with a broken down spine, Sam coughed and spluttered on the dust as it invaded his nose and tickled his larynx. It took him a few moments to realise he couldn't get his breath back and he sat up, hand clutching his chest, trying to stay calm.

But this time it wasn't working. Sam's restricted airway fought against the bizarre notion of trying to take in more defective oxygen, and what little did make it to Sam's lungs was mostly dust.

In a blind panic Sam jumped to his feet and started pacing, hoping to put some distance between him and the cause of his distress but the movement was draining the blood from his head and he sank to his knees, out rightly gasping, wheezing, in danger of collapse.

Tingling fingers, icy cold feet, heart racing and thumping hard inside his chest…_oh shit._

The room just started spinning its way into darkness when strong arms came round him, stopping his ungraceful descent.

"_Sammy…"_ was whispered in his ear. Sam only had time to recognise Dean's voice before losing consciousness.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Not just someone. _Sam_ was struggling to breathe.

Bursting into the library, Dean darted through the precariously stacked books to his younger brother just as the kid wavered on his knees, eyes rolled white, lids fluttering as he struggled to stay conscious.

Catching him, rubbing his back, muttering softly, Dean tried to bring him back from the brink but his loss became apparent as Sam collapsed in his arms.

"_Bobby!_" Dean yelled loudly, frantically examining his brother, noting the laboured breathing, the ashen skin around dark lips already turning blue.

Thudding feet grew louder until the older guy appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with worry.

"What the hell's goin' on?"

"Call 911." Dean didn't even look up, just explained what he'd heard and seen. He would have loosened Sam's clothes but his kid brother had lost so much weight recently the idea was laughable.

_How did I not notice that?_

Bobby didn't question the command. Sam looked bad, _awful_ in fact, and if he didn't know any better he'd say the boy was suffering from an asthma attack.

Shaking his head as he waited for the emergency services to pick up, Bobby shrugged off his suspicions.

_If Sam were asthmatic we'd all know, right? John wouldn't keep that a secret surely?_

But watching Dean's behaviour, whilst he rattled off directions to the dispatcher, told Bobby that it wasn't _John_ that had kept it a secret. Dean had no clue what was wrong or how to help his brother, which implied that John probably hadn't known about it either.

Sam Winchester was turning out to be quite the dark horse.

Question was, how long?

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean wanted to ask the same question but stayed silent in the doorway of Sam's intensive care room. The respiratory specialist was quietly talking to the kid and Dean held his breath as he waited for the answer. And when it came he almost stumbled back with shock.

"How long have you been asthmatic Sam? When were you diagnosed?" The old guy peered over his bifocals, eyes twinkling kindly at his patient.

Sam nodded slowly, unaware that his older brother was listening in from the door near his bed. Voice a little muffled by the oxygen mask, throat sore from his earlier fight to breathe, he gave his answer.

"I was fifteen. But I haven't used my inhaler for years. Just kept it in case, ya know?"

Jotting that down the doctor smiled and ignored the sharp angrily indrawn breath from his patient's older brother.

Sam didn't though, and his head snapped round to meet a furious pair of green eyes.

"Dean…"

Sensing the two men needed to talk the doc began to wrap things up.

"Well, that's all for now but I'd like you to stay in overnight, just in case." He glanced at Dean who nodded back stiffly. "Given the recent accident and the stress you've been under lately…" the doc was tactfully referring to their father's death "…it pays to side with caution."

Flipping over the pages on his clipboard Doc Thompson added "I'll get you a new inhaler and a couple of spare sets, oh and you may as well take a peak flow meter with you." The kind old doctor completely misinterpreted the worried look on Sam's face. "I have several lying around my office so don't worry about payment."

"Uh…thanks Doc." Sam whispered breathlessly, the presence of his brother shaking him up more than he cared to admit; especially now the truth was out.

The doc frowned. "You ok there?"

Sam nodded, quick to reassure him. "Yeah, m'fine. Just a little tired."

"Not surprising under the circumstances." The sympathetic smile didn't make Sam feel any better.

"Ok then," Doc Thompson glanced at his watch. "I'll swing by in a few hours to check on you, but in the meantime you need anything? Just holler."

"I will." Sam watched a little fearfully as the elderly physician got to his feet and left the room.

A couple of heart beats later and Dean took his place, sliding into the chair by Sam's bed. The look on his face was enough to send Sam's blood pressure skywards.

"So." Dean barked out, eyeing Sam through narrowed slits. "Aren't _you_ turning out to be the big mystery huh? Anything else I should know about? Gotta a secret love child somewhere?"

"Dean, it's not like that…"

"_Fifteen years old Sam!_" Dean shot forward in his seat, hands gripping the plastic arms so hard they were starting to bend and warp. "Were ya _ever_ planning on telling me? Or was it your _plan_ to scare the hell outta me first?! Like some sick practical joke, 'cos I gotta tell ya, that wasn't _funny_ Sam!"

"That's not…" Sam flinched when Dean's fist came down hard on his mattress and wisely kept his mouth shut. His brother was sounding off and clearly didn't require actual answers just yet.

Except..

"Well...congratulations Sammy." Dean voice dropped, almost soft, but the tone sent a shiver of apprehension down Sam's spine. "You finally turned into Dad."

Staring at his brother, eyes wide, Sam slowly removed the oxygen mask, sliding it up and off his head, letting it dangle over the edge of the bed.

"What the hell's _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded angrily, ignoring the returning tight feeling in his chest as the adrenaline kicked off.

Dean's shrug was deceptively congenial. "I'm just saying he always liked his secrets too. Kept everything on a _need to know basis_." His hands reached forward and twisted in the blanket as though wishing it was Sam's neck. "'cept don't you think this was something I needed to know? S'posing something went wrong on a hunt! How did you think I could help you? You didn't even get your inhaler replaced after the accident_, how I am supposed to trust you to watch my back when you can't even watch your own?_" He abruptly got to his feet and paced to the window, holding onto the windowsill like a lifeline and hung his head.

_Stupid little bastard! Don't you understand? I can't lose you too!_

Sam ground his teeth, fighting to stay calm. "That was a mistake ok? I just didn't think…." He wheezed out a breath just as his brother interrupted again. It was becoming a habit and Sam wondered if he'd ever get the chance to explain what happened all those years ago. But Dean's angry words were ringing in his ears and Sam blinked hard and rapid, trying to control the rising panic.

The cardiac monitor picked up on Sam's distress but neither brother took note.

Dean snorted angrily and turned away in disgust. "Didn't think. Huh. A little unusual even for you Sam."

Sam was done for, couldn't stay in control...

"I…f..found dad on the f-floor…" Tears pooling in his eyes, Sam slowly sat up to ease his breathing though it was futile. "Had t..too much g…goin' on…f-forgot…" the wheezing was too severe to ignore by now, and Sam once again felt like he was suffocating. "D-Dean…"

Hearing his brother's struggle for the second time that night, Dean spun round in panic. "Sam?" _Aw hell! What have I done?_

The cardiac monitor was dropping some pretty heavy hints by now that something was badly wrong.

"I…c…can't…" Sam's closing airway became blocked with overproduction of mucus, cutting off his sentence but Dean knew what he was trying to say. Stabbing at the call button and re-fixing the mask in hopes of reviving his kid brother, he was out of luck. It had gone too far this time. Sam's mouth gaped open, wheezing desperately for air.

"Come on Sammy breathe for me," Dean quickly drew him up off the pillows, rubbing his back, glancing worriedly at his face. "Please kiddo…I'm sorry…Just breathe…"

Sam's body jerked, his lungs in spasm, diaphragm clawing in what little air it could before his body gave out.

He fell limp in Dean's arms; mouth slack behind the mask, eyes closed…_barely breathing at all._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dr Thompson was considering the merits of dispensing machine coffee but he was fortunately saved from his distressing fate when the call came. Hurrying back along the hall as fast as his old legs could carry him, the doc reflected on his age and briefly wondered if he could pitch the hospital board a deal for an electric wheelchair.

_Not likely. There'll be penguins in hell before that happens._

Two nurses from the ward reception desk were already in the room when the doc arrived, the scared older brother sitting on the edge of the bed cradling the younger kid in his arms.

The heart monitor provided the accompaniment to harsh squeaks as Sam's body tried _so damn hard..._

"Dean I need you to step back so I can help him," Doc Thompson carefully laid a hand on the guy's shoulder. "Ok? You can stay in the room but let me help."

Dean nodded and laid his ailing brother back on the bed. "Yeah." But Sam's face was just so damn pale.

Doc made a few quick checks and nodded to his staff. "He's in status asthmaticus; let's push 100mg of theophylline and pass me that nebulizer." He glanced over at Dean who appeared calm and collected on the surface, but the elderly doctor had been around a long time and could tell when someone was freaking out. "What happened here son?"

Scrubbing a hand over his face the older brother groaned helplessly. "I didn't know about my brother's asthma. He never told me." He shrugged tiredly, eyes dark with fear and worry. "I got mad at him…said some things I shouldn't…"

The doctor nodded without comment. There was little point in judging the poor guy; everyone handled bad news differently after all.

The boy under the nebulizer was now grey-faced from lack of air. Doc Thompson leaned and watched closely, waiting for some kind of response.

Dean stepped towards the bed as the nurses busied themselves with Sam's IV, and he could hear Sam's doctor muttering so quietly he wondered if the old guy knew he was doing it.

"_Come on kid; take it in….takeitintakeitintakeitin..." _He uttered over and over, eyes never leaving Sam's face.

Dean stood by anxiously; several minutes passed before his brother showed signs of improvement, mask fogging up with a little more enthusiasm as the theophylline got cracking on opening up Sam's airway and the nebulizer eased further medication into his lungs.

Pretty soon Sam was taking deeper breaths and Dean felt himself relaxing slightly, though his hands still shook badly.

_Way too close._

Sam didn't wake up that night; his body was too exhausted, system loaded with drugs to keep him stable and Dean was a little grateful for that. Last thing he wanted was to see Sam's accusatory glare, or worse have him flinch away in fear.

_Nothing more than I deserve..._

But Doc Thompson was a kindly old man who took some time out of his busy schedule to talk to his patient's rather shell shocked brother.

"Stress is becoming quite the topic for discussion amongst physician's these days, especially where asthma is concerned." He explained reasonably.

Dean rested elbows on his brother's bed. "How? I mean, how does it work? Sam's not usually one to freak out in a tight spot."

"No one's completely sure of the mechanism, and yeah, some people can suffer pretty nasty anxiety attacks but in an asthmatic it's quite dangerous." Doc Thompson smiled discreetly as Dean smoothed some wayward strands of hair from Sam's face. "He breathed in a lot of dust which probably exacerbated things. As for 'tight spots' and freaking out, well, that depends on your definition."

"Huh?" Dean turned his head back to the doc in clear puzzlement.

"I've known fire fighters cool as anything rescue kids from tall burning buildings, police officers take down armed lunatics without breaking a sweat…" The doc eyed the young guy carefully, fairly sure he was correct in his assumptions. This was no cop or fire fighter and neither was his brother but they were something alright…

"But those guys and girls…anything tries to hurt their family and that's a _different_ kinda 'tight spot', a different _level_ of freaking out. And from then on the anxiety just builds up and up."

Dean's face was a closed book, gave nothing away, but the doc knew.

_Yeah, he gets it._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean didn't sleep much, kept running the Doc's words through his head time and again. His little brother slept the sleep of the heavily stoned however and Dean watched over him vigilantly. Bobby swung by in the morning to offer support and the two of them talked it over.

"You think Dad knew?"

Bobby scratched the back of his neck. "Doubt it. Don't seem like something he'd have kept from you if he did; too damn dangerous. You were Sam's 'bodyguard' for most of his childhood."

Dean huffed a little angrily. "Well _someone_ must've known. Hell! How does a fifteen year old kid get diagnosed with asthma without his family finding out?"

Bobby appeared to consider that one. "Only one person who can tell you that now. But if you'll take my advice, tread gently round this one." He fixed Dean with a grim smile. "Sam must've had his reasons for keeping this from you, and you might not understand them. All I'm sayin' is just be prepared kid."

Dean swallowed hard round the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yeah. I kinda already got that."

Patting Dean's shoulder, Bobby got up to leave. "Let me know when you boys are ready to come back to the yard."

"Sure Bobby." Dean smiled lightly. "And thanks…for everything."

Sam showed signs of coming round later that morning, eyelids fluttering above the nebulizer and a soft groan pulled Dean out of his thoughts.

"Sam? You back kiddo?" He kept his voice gentle for Sam's sake. Poor kid was bound to be confused as hell.

His eyes finally opened to reveal watery sluggish pupils barely reacting to daylight. Dean could see his mouth move slightly under the plastic but no sound came out. The kid blinked slowly and tried again.

"_Deeaaannn…?"_

Grabbing Sam's hand and pulling it into his chest, Dean now perched on the edge of the bed smiling broadly.

"Right here Sam." He whispered, gently rubbing a hand up and down his little brother's arm. "How ya feelin' there?"

Sam blinked drunkenly a few more times _"huh?...I…ah…wh…"_ and gave up, the effort just too much. He gazed sadly up at his older brother instead, eyes searching Dean's face, though what for was anybody's guess. His free hand lifted shakily from the bed and pawed weakly at the nebulizer mask, soft muffled moans echoing his frustration.

"S'ok Sammy," Dean brushed the hand away and placed it back down on his stomach. "It's there to help you breathe buddy; you took quite a turn for the worse." Barely stifling a sob he added "Scared the shit outta me."

Sam's eyes filled with moisture. _"ss…ssssorrrryyy…"_

Dean shook his head. "Never mind. Just get some more rest huh? We'll talk soon enough." Running his fingers through Sam's hair he watched as the kid gratefully slipped away again.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam opened crusty eyes and grimaced at the bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. The mask was gone but there was something running under his nose, irritating the sensitive skin. He vaguely remembered waking at some point, his brother sitting beside him with a strange look on his face, but sleep had pulled him back under.

Sighing tiredly, Sam glanced around wondering where his brother had got to. Dean was usually over bearing, over protective and overzealous whenever Sam was sick or injured, but maybe this time would be different.

Eyes wandering up to the ceiling, he swallowed his sadness and tried to decide what to do if his brother had left him here.

"You're awake at last." Dean carried a jug of fresh water into the room and set it on the nightstand. "Thought you were gonna sleep forever."

Sam tried to figure out his mood from the tone but it gave nothing away. Even Dean's face was neutral and Sam wasn't sure if that was good news or not. He really needed water right now and gazed hopefully at the jug, but honestly didn't think he had the strength to sit up and drink; deciding to stay quiet for now he dropped his gaze and stared at his fingernails instead.

A warm gentle hand slid beneath his neck and raised his head slightly. Sam's eyes flickered up to meet Dean's soft smile.

"Here, you must be thirsty." He placed a glass at Sam's lips and let him drink long and deep.

Ok Sam was scared now. He felt sure his brother should be yelling at him or something but here he was being…_caring?_

Relaxing a little after the glass was removed, Sam studied Dean anxiously.

"Thanks. Mouth felt pretty bad." He croaked, still waiting for some kind of explosion. Oh well, might as well take the initiative. "I guess you wanna know?"

Dean sat down and nodded sharply. "Yeah I do. But Sammy I also want to understand. Can't promise I _will _but I _can_ promise I'll try."

"Ok," Sam took a tentative breath. "You remember those training exercises right? Dad would make us run for miles and at the end we'd have to recite five different cleansing rituals."

"Yeah," Dean sounded guarded, not surprisingly. He always was whenever their discussions centred on Dad these days.

Sam bit his bottom lip nervously. "I had trouble keeping up sometimes and Dad was convinced I was just being lazy."

His brother stiffened up at that. "I remember." Voice now cold. "You weren't trying hard enough. Don't go blaming this on Dad…"

"You gonna let me finish? Or just go drawing your own conclusions?" Sam snapped back.

Dean spread his hands in resignation. "Ok. Go on." But he obviously wasn't happy with where this was going.

Sam wasn't sure he wanted to continue but now they were _here_…

"I was having some trouble at school too; don't really know when it started just that physical exertion was becoming a problem; it was pretty gradual actually. First mild wheezing, I'd be more susceptible to chest infections and after sports class my lungs were irritated, and I'd start coughing. Had trouble breathing though nothing serious." He picked at his blanket just for a distraction from the growing horror on Dean's face. "My teacher was the one to ask me if was asthmatic but I said no, not that I was aware. She suggested I get it checked out just in case. I didn't want you or Dad knowing…"

"Why?" Dean had to interrupt this time. _Had_ to know the answer.

"'Cos….'cos I didn't want you thinking I was just making excuses. You knew I hated hunting and I figured I could just get it checked out on my own. Find out one way or another." Sam did that lip biting thing again. "Whatever. It all made much more sense back then."

He'd used fake ID at a free clinic, explained he wasn't in town very long and wasn't sure where he was heading next. Being tall for sixteen the clinic staff fell for it and the doc examined him; much to his disappointment and fear Sam was later confirmed as asthmatic. Sam walked out of there loaded down with leaflets, inhalers and a case note to pass on to his next doctor.

Once he got a handle on his asthma, his quality of life improved and he was able to keep it under wraps. Sam still marvelled at how his father and brother had never known about it, not even suspected. He'd carried his inhaler everywhere he went, only used it when no one was watching and fortune had smiled upon him because he never had a serious attack. Well, other than this incident, there _was __one_ exception…

"Uhuh," Dean narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly. "You ever had anything like this happen before?"

...and just typical of Dean to pick up on _that_.

Sam hesitated for a second, worried about how this was going to sound. "Just once. When I arrived at Stanford for the first time I had some trouble." Eyes meeting Dean's he went on to explain. "I knew something was brewing the night Dad threw me out but I took a couple puffs on my inhaler and everything seemed fine. But when I got to Stanford…I don't know why I…I just freaked out. Guess it hit me just what I'd done; lost the people I loved most. Next thing I know I'm waking up in the intensive care ward at the local hospital with pneumonia."

He fell silent, now not looking at his brother, dreading his reaction.

"They never called us." Dean stared hard at him. "Why Sam? Why didn't they call your next of kin? _We shoulda been told!_"

"'Cos I didn't list you guys as an emergency contact. As far as they knew I had no family." Sam sniffed miserably around the nasal tube, wishing he could remove the damn thing. "Didn't think you guys wanted to hear from me again so…" he blew out a breath, fatigue getting the better of him once again but he soldiered on. "Jess was the only one I talked to and maybe Rebecca once or twice, but other than that I figured we'd all be better off just leaving it alone."

He heard Dean sigh and glanced up to find troubled green eyes watching him.

"I promised I'd at least try to understand," Dean announced shakily. "But Sammy…_really _struggling with this ya know."

Sam nodded sadly. "I _do_ know and I'm sorry."

As time marched on Sam never had another attack and the campus doctor figured he'd grown out of it. But he kept the inhaler just in case. He'd used it the night he lost his girlfriend while Dean was busy talking to the fire fighters, but that was just because of the smoke, and Dean had pulled him out before any real damage was done.

Dean fiddled with the pendant at his neck as he thought it through. He was hurt, upset and angry with Sam sure, but most of that was a direct result of fear. Having born witness to two life threatening asthma attacks in one night, seeing his kid brother nearly suffocate...those images weren't going to fade anytime soon. Trouble was he also felt guilty as hell. Dean thought back to when Sam was fifteen, searched his memories for any kind of sign he might have missed, but all he kept seeing was teenaged Sam, coughing and spluttering after a five mile run and their Dad…he was really ragging on the poor kid, calling him lazy, making him run yet _another_ mile followed by fifty press-ups. And Dean had gone along with it. _Agreed_ with it.

The kid was actually pretty fit especially compared to the rest of his peer group which was probably a blessing. Looking back, certain things were adding up; it all made sense and Dean felt his stomach churn with everything he knew now.

_Christ._ When he thought of some of the pranks he'd played on Sam over the years his blood ran cold. There was the ever famous flour incident: a carefully placed bag of flour above the door, an innocent Sam walking underneath, and the kid ended up looking like a very odd polar bear. _Jesus_. If any of that stuff had gotten into his lungs…

Sam had once pushed Dean into a swimming pool; the older brother got his revenge by giving him a good ducking until Sam could hardly stand.

Then…

"Dean?" Sam was looking at him worriedly. "You ok? You look a little freaked."

….there was the time where Dean got so fed up with his little brother one afternoon that he actually pinned him down, tied his hands behind his back and gagged him, just so he could have a little peace and quiet watching an Indiana Jones film. _Couldn't even remember which one now!_

"Dean?" Sam sounded _really _worried now.

Dean felt sick. _Doing that to someone who suffered from asthma…he could've choked…_

"Oh God."

He went from sitting down to dashing from the room with a hand clamped over his mouth all in one go, a puzzled Sam watching him with wide eyes. The nearest rest room was just ahead and he barrelled through the door, scaring the life out of an elderly gentleman who near enough wet himself, scrambled for a cubicle just in time and violently threw up. Hot bile and semi-digested food burned its way up his oesophagus, stomach heaving helplessly and Dean tried really hard to ban the images of Sam struggling against his bonds, a length of rope twined tightly round his wrists, Dean's own bandana stuffed in his mouth….

_He was lying on his back! I left him lying on his back!_

The vomiting continued.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was starting to get agitated. His brother had turned green and practically run from the room, and that was over ten minutes ago. He had no idea what was going through Dean's head but it was obviously disturbing.

Throwing back the covers, removing the nasal cannular and pulling out his IV, Sam gingerly swung his legs over the bedside and oh so carefully stood up. At the same time thanking God he wasn't wearing one of those ludicrous _famous_ backless hospital gowns but a set of green scrubs, Sam shivered lightly and grabbed the robe off the back of the door.

Leaving his feet bare for now, he set off after his brother.

Sam peeked out into the hall and tugged the robe tighter around his frame; an old guy with an embarrassed expression on his face and a wet patch near his groin shuffled passed, but Sam ignored him and headed straight for the rest room where he found Dean slouched against the open door of a cubicle, breathing hard, eyes glazed over with shock.

"Dean, it's ok." Sam crouched down and gripped his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "Dean, please talk to me?"

"Sammy…you shoulda told me. Even if you didn't want Dad to know, you _shoulda_ told _me_." Dean muttered sadly. "Those pranks I used to play on ya…some of those were fucking _dangerous_ Sam! I coulda killed you!"

_Ah. **That'**s what this is about. _Sam sighed and sat down opposite, his long legs scrunched up in the tight space.

"And that's another good reason why I didn't."

Dean's vision cleared and threw his brother an incredulous look. "What?"

Sam nudged him with a knee. "Don't look like that. You _know_ why. Brothers prank each other all the time," he shrugged "I didn't really want that to change. It was fun even if you went a little far sometimes."

"Yeah right!" Dean scoffed at that statement. "Like when I nearly drowned you in the pool that time, or when I fucking _gagged_ you…"

Sam's mouth twisted. "Yeah, _that_ wasn't much fun." He gave Dean a pointed look of disgust "but I was thinking more along the lines of what you did to my shampoo!"

"Ah come on," Dean started chuckling in spite of himself. "I thought you liked the gangster nickname I gave you."

"Bald Sammy was hardly a gangster nickname," Sam deadpanned back. "It was worse than the actual prank."

He grew serious again when the laughter died down. "Dean, you would've wrapped me in cotton wool and as much as I hated hunting, I hated the thought of being treated differently _far_ more."

"Sam, I wouldn't have done that." Then Dean nodded slightly. "I mean yeah I mighta been more careful with you…"

"No 'might' about it." Sam corrected softly.

The brothers stared at each other in silence.

"I never woulda thought less of you. You know that now, right?" Dean asked, carefully watching Sam's face and hoping for the truth.

"Yeah," Sam rested his chin on his knees and stifled a yawn, eyelids drooping. "I do. And for the record, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, so many times. Shoulda done it when you came and got me at Stanford I guess…"

In a way Dean _was_ beginning to understand. Sam, as the youngest member of the family, was under constant pressure to prove himself not just to Dad but to his brother. It had to be tough growing up, not just under one but two long shadows, in a life he never really wanted, and then to find out he had a respiratory disorder that was holding him back…Dean's heart broke imagining an emotionally vulnerable teenage Sam going through all that alone. He inwardly cursed himself and their dead father for everything they'd put Sam through, the put downs, the punishment regimes, the '_that'll teach ya to be lazy.'_

_No wonder he couldn't talk to us._

But one shining thought emerged above all others. Sam was tougher than even _he_ knew.

"I'm proud of you Sammy."

Sam's head came up off his knees in shock. "Huh?"

"And I'm pretty sure if he'd known, Dad would be too." Dean got slowly to his feet and cracked a few joints, before holding out a hand to his brother. "Now come on, let's get you back to bed. Ya look beat."

Sam looked at his hand for a moment, not sure what to say. Then he grinned and allowed Dean to help him up, the two of them making their way slowly back to Sam's room.

"Sam?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"These last few weeks…I've been a jerk. Those things I said…"

"S'ok Dean…"

But it wasn't. Dean thought about what the old doc said, about there being different tight spots, different levels of freaking out. Sam had loved their father in his own way and losing him, not to mention also nearly losing his brother, had triggered his _own_ level. A year's worth of crap had built up and dumped on Sam in the worst possible way, and Dean hadn't helped any.

Tucking his brother back into bed and refitting the nasal tube, Dean sighed quietly, feeling more than a little ashamed of himself.

"Sammy, ignore me ok? It's never too late. What you're doing for Dad? I think he'd be honoured."

Sam frowned at that, "It's not all for him…or Jess."

"Then what?"

A pause the length of a loud heart beat.

"For you."

Dean pulled back and stared at him. That was the last answer he was expecting. But those damn puppy dog eyes glimmered softly with unshed tears, a small smile curving his mouth. Dean's chin dropped to his chest in welcomed defeat and he grinned wryly.

"Get some sleep Sammy."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

Threw this one together during a particularly troublesome on call shift, so I do apologise if it isn't up to my usual standard, or if there are any glaring inconsistencies. Haven't had time to research on American health procedures or laws so it's purely guess work.

And of course, purely for fun.

I was talking to my best mate during the last week or so and we both have a question for you guys to ponder:

Does it appear that Dean's hair gets shorter each season and Sam's gets longer? If so, can we expect a young Kojak and Aragorn, son of Arathorn come Season 5?

(Actually the latter image is rather hot; Sam stressed as strider and wielding a heavy sword…_mitts off Arwen he's mine!)_

Cheers guys. Hope this meets your Limp Sam needs.

Many hugs and lots of love goes out to those of you who've been voting for my Christmas story **Good Tidings We Bring** in the People's Choice 2008 Awards over at SNFA (Sensue). You're all superb! So far it's pretty neck and neck, but I'm just extremely flattered so there ya go!

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	10. Chicken Licken

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times Dean unintentionally hurts his brother**_

_**Story 10**_

**Chicken Licken**

**There's something wrong with the food, but how does Sam inform his moody older brother?**

_**Dean 18, Sam 14**_

**I came up with this one because I've been hearing some very disturbing comments about Season 4. (I've only just started watching it and looking forward to seeing episode 5 this Sunday). **

**Now, I really don't want to start ranting… **

…_**but I will if I must**_**:**

**Who are the fuckwits out there calling for Sam to be written out/killed off?**

**Just fucking try it mate!**

**I can only assume (hopefully) it's the **_**so called**_** fans that have only just joined the series and haven't been watching it faithfully right from the get go. If not, if you **_**are**_** one of us originals then I have this to say: you've obviously missed the point of the show altogether, now fuck off and go watch something crap like 90210.**

'**Cos crap entertainment is the least you deserve. **

_**Leave Sam Winchester alone!**_

_**It's my job to make his life hell!**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The car was at the garage being fixed. That was the first thing Dean hated about today. The car was being fixed because _someone_ tripped on a loose paving slab and fell, and _when _that someone fell he twisted round to protect his head, which meant that someone's school pack caught the offside rear panel. The aforementioned school pack was one of those ridiculous things covered in buckles, most of which had little function and was just there to _look_ good.

Dean glowered.

_Why he insisted on choosing that fucking thing I'll never know! Probably cost more than the damn books he keeps in it!_

The garage called a little while ago: it was going to cost one hundred and fifty dollars to fix. That was actually better than he expected but then the cute secretary had been extra nice to him on that score, giving Dean a twenty per cent discount.

That was the second thing to hate. Money, or the lack of it. John was out at the grocery store, re-stocking not food…oh nonono…_rock salt._

Yeah, it was a necessity in their line of work, but surely food was a priority too?

There was a pack of chicken fillet steaks left in the cooler and Dean really didn't feel like it. He had about enough cash left to head out for a couple of juicy burgers down town; Sam, that _someone, owner of the school pack and destroyer of classic cars_ could have the chicken.

Opening the cooler and pulling out the fillets, Dean checked the use by date.

Hmm. Three days ago.

He shrugged. They'd eaten worse that was for Godamned sure, and he wasn't about to dump them. The Winchester boys knew better than to waste food and besides, those dates were only a guideline, right?

Dean held the meat up to his nose and took a good long sniff. Nope. Smelt alright to him. But then his tastes weren't exactly discerning. Ripping open the packet and slapping the chicken down on a chopping board with a wet slapping noise, he reached for the nearest knife – _a bread knife_ - and started quite literally hacking away. Dean knew he wasn't the best cook in the world but it was about time his little brother developed a stronger stomach.

He grinned. There was some extra hot chilli powder near the stove. That would do the trick.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam sat quietly in the living room, going through a history essay he'd been working on the last couple of days. He was rather pleased with it and looked forward to handing it in a week before the deadline.

He heard his older brother's aggravated muttering from the kitchen and tensed.

It was an accident. He really hadn't done it on purpose, wouldn't want to hurt Dean like that, but in the end it was an instinct that bypassed his brain and went straight to his motor functions. After all, that's what their father trained them to do right? To avoid injury?

That little scientific explanation on the back of many heartfelt apologies had cut no ice with his brother.

Sam was now an outcast for the foreseeable future.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sam!" Dean bellowed, as he served up the fried chilli chicken from a wok he found in the cupboard below the sink. "Grubs up, come and get it!"

Sam sighed. He really didn't feel very hungry but he'd upset his brother enough as it was; no point in making things worse. The younger boy trudged into the kitchen and blinked at the steaming plate on the scabby old wooden table. It actually smelt pretty good. Sam was expecting beans on toast. Again.

"We're out of beans," Dean commented tonelessly. He shrugged. "And bread."

Sam nodded, biting his lip as he plunked himself down in front of the food.

"Thanks Dean," he answered in a small voice and picked up his fork.

Dean watched his brother, eyes narrowed, waiting for him to take a bite.

Sam placed a piece of spiced chicken in his mouth and chewed slowly. And the more he chewed the more he realised there was a real funny taste to it,

"Uh…Dean? About the chicken…"

"What?" Dean's tone said it all. _You scratch the Impala and now you're ragging on my cooking? Ungrateful little shit!_

But Sam's thoughts on this were cruelly curtailed when his tongue started burning.

Like an _inferno!_

"Oh God!" He dived out of his seat and virtually took a header into the sink, mouth wedged under the spout, fingers scrabbling for the faucet until cool water flooded his throat, leaving him choking violently but still desperate for more nonetheless.

Distantly he could hear Dean snorting with laughter and understood this was his revenge for the car.

It took forever for the burn to die down and when he straightened up and turned, tongue hanging out dripping water like a Labrador, Dean's laughter morphed into outright guffaws.

"Dude! Should see your face!" Dean held out his hands, pretending to warm them. "I could use you as a lighter on the next salt and burn!"

Sam felt a smile tugging at his mouth, some small part of him finally seeing the humour.

But evidently this wasn't Dean's idea of an olive branch, because in the next moment he was tugging on his jacket and heading out the door.

"Wash up when ya finished, don't leave it for me to do!" He called out just before the door slammed shut, leaving Sam staring after him wide eyed with hurt.

"Like I've ever done that," He whispered to the empty kitchen dejectedly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean settled in his booth, taking a huge eager bite of his burger and stuffing a few fries in his mouth. He vaguely wondered if Sam would finish the chicken; probably not. Sam wasn't against spicy food per se, but he sure didn't have the same constitution for it as his father and older brother.

A slither of guilt wormed its way into Dean's mind and he paused before the next bite. Kid hadn't meant to scratch his baby. And as funny as the joke had been, the thought of his little brother going hungry was beginning to worry him. Sam was growing all the time and needed sustenance, having lost all his baby fat in the last couple of years. The kid was turning into a bean pole.

Checking the cash in his wallet, Dean happily concluded he had enough for another burger and fries, then settled back to enjoy his meal.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

He didn't dare not eat it.

Some years back Sam had been caught throwing a perfectly good peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the trash, and as a consequence couldn't sit down properly for the next couple of days. It didn't matter that he couldn't stand the stuff; it was wasting food, an unforgivable offence in the eyes of John Winchester.

So with a large pitcher of water on standby, Sam chewed on doggedly, ignoring the funny taste, eyes and nose streaming, mouth burning until his stomach was sloshing with an unappetising mix of chilli chicken and cold water.

That odd taste in his mouth just wouldn't let go, but Sam put it down to the chilli scorching his taste buds to within an inch of their existence.

He later stood at the sink washing his plate, fork and eventually the wok, then set about cleaning the stove. Dean had made quite a mess as always and it took Sam longer than usual to scrub away at the stains, convincing him this was just another part of his punishment. But as he was finishing up, a piece of paper on the counter caught his eye. Curious, Sam leaned over and snagged it, eyes widening in horror when he realised what he was looking at.

Pete Davies Auto Repairs.

It was a receipt for the Impala.

Hundred and fifty dollars?

Slowly he stepped back and sank back down into his seat at the kitchen table. His eyes burned with tears, competing for supremacy with his still burning mouth.

_No wonder Dean's so mad at me! I deserve everything I get for this!_

Sam hadn't known it would cost so much to fix, and if he'd realised the quote was actually at a special reduced rate, a la Dean's good looks, he probably would have curled into a mortified ball on the kitchen floor.

But he could help. Sam nodded to himself, long fringe sweeping across his eyes as he considered this and pocketed the receipt. Rising on unsteady legs, Sam stumbled into his bedroom and rummaged around in the wardrobe at the back. Producing a small tin and giving it a shake he smiled gleefully at the rustling and tinkling noise, then pulled open the lid.

His family didn't know about this. Whenever they were on the move it was kept carefully hidden at the bottom of his duffle, not that there was usually anything worthwhile inside. But he'd been saving hard these last few months; his allowance was pitiful and he had nowhere near the money to pay for the Impala's garage bill but twenty bucks? At least it was something.

Sam bit his lip again. There _was_ something else he could use though he was heartbroken at the thought. Rolling up his sleeve, he stared fondly at his diving watch. His father had given it to him for his last birthday and he was loathed to part with it.

But needs must.

Sam grabbed the twenty dollars in change and bills, and stuffed it in his pocket with the receipt, pulled on his sneakers and headed out, carefully locking the front door behind him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The pawnbroker was seedy as hell and Sam wasn't convinced he'd get a good price for the watch. But it was the only one around still open that time of evening, so taking a deep breath he pushed open the grimy door and poked his head round. It was ominously dark inside with only one dirty lamp lighting up a display cabinet near the cash desk.

A fat balding guy in his late sixties appeared to be staring closely at something through a tiny eyeglass but when the bell above the door rang loudly he raised his head and glared at the newcomer.

"You aint old 'nough to be in here boy, now git!"

Sam summoned his best kicked puppy dog look. "I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but I need help."

The guy behind the counter stared at him for a second then nodded. "Alright, I'm listenin'."

Sam stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Uh…how much could you give me for this?" He held out his wrist, the watch catching the dim light for a second.

The store owner groused at him. "Can't see it from over here; come closer and let me take a look."

Sam glanced around nervously before complying, unbuckling the watch as he went.

The guy eyed him warily. "You steal this kid? I don't have no truck with stolen goods." He declared. "This is a respectful establishment."

Somehow Sam sincerely doubted that but refused to comment. There was little point in antagonising the one person who could help him out.

"No sir." Sam shook his head instead. "It's mine. My Dad gave it to me as a birthday present."

Two grey streaked eyebrows shot up. "Why you lookin' ta sell?" Then they dipped down fiercely when the guy frowned. "You aint tryin' to run away are ya? Ya Pa beatin' on ya?" He looked Sam up and down as though searching for bruises.

Sam smothered a laugh. The prospective buyer was downright shifty looking, his stained ancient string vest had seen better days, as had the entire store, and he was concerned for Sam's welfare?

It was kind of sweet, even if the old guy was _still_ convinced he'd stolen it.

"No, I just need the money to help out my brother. See, I scratched his car and I wanna help pay for the damage." Sam muttered, shifting from foot to foot, trying not to show his impatience. "He was pretty mad at me."

His stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl of disapproval and began to churn alarmingly. Then it decided that _cramping up_ would be fun, before sending a quivering wave of nausea through him. It was all Sam could do not to cry out and bend double in pain.

_Oh God!_ Sam felt the flush of embarrassment as his gut loosened and his body broke out into a heavy sweat. _Must be the chilli._

"Uh…this is kinda an awkward question but can I please use your rest room?" Sam enquired anxiously, trying not cross his legs. When the shop owner just gaped at him in amazement Sam did his best to keep from snapping. "I'm sorry but I aint feelin' too good."

That seem to break the guy out of his trance. "Sure son! You go on ahead, it's out back." Then he yelled out. "Hey kid! You want me to call someone for ya? Ya brother maybe?"

_I'd rather eat my own feet._ "No! It's ok. I'll be fine in a minute."

Sam emerged _ten_ minutes later feeling somewhat relieved, but the slowly growing nausea told him this wasn't over.

"You ok kid?" The guy watched with some concern, as though worried his young customer was about to pass out.

Sam wondered about that himself. He'd caught a glimpse of his face in the rest room mirror and had to admit he didn't look good. He looked like a ghost in fact, skin virtually bloodless with dark patches under his eyes. As he stood there, hearing his stomach churn violently once again, Sam began shivering in spite of the sweat rolling down his neck and back. Another cramp hit him hard and he rode it out as best he could.

Taking a deep breath, Sam nodded. "I'll be fine... once I get home. Just something I ate." He'd gestured to the watch. "What dya say?" He gazed at the guy pleadingly.

The store owner pursed his lips in thought then nodded. "I'll give ya fifty."

Sam knew he was pushing his luck in more ways than one. "Fifty five?" He asked hopefully. "That gives me enough to cover at least half the damage."

Eyeing Sam carefully once again, he clicked his tongue. "Ya drive a hard bargain kid. Alright. Fifty five it is." Handing over the money he also extended a signed receipt.

"Just in case you want it back. Ya got a week's grace." He winked kindly at the boy then dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

Sam smiled shakily, more than glad to have this over with. "Thank you so much sir, I really appreciate it." And pretty much ran from the premises, aiming straight for home.

Sam made it back in record time but as soon as he stumbled through the door another bolt of pain ripped through his abdomen and he threw up in the hallway just outside the bathroom. Sobbing with misery, exhaustion and embarrassment, Sam practically crawled his way to the toilet, leaving a trail of vomit behind him.

_This is bad. _He thought frantically. _This is real bad…don't know what to do…_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean grinned, all boyish charm.

Meal over with, he'd managed to muscle in on a poker game and after losing a few hands to avert suspicion, he'd played on to raise more than enough to pay for the damage to the Impala. On top of that he was going to buy Sammy the best burger ever. His guilt had been mounting up all evening since he'd left his little brother with the chilli from hell, had known he'd been too hard on him. It was just a scratch after all, not the end of the world and Sam had already apologised until he was blue in the face.

The next hand was dealt and Dean decided to make it the last.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The room was spinning but Sam felt a little better once he'd emptied his stomach completely.

At both ends. Only thing worse than puking: diarrhoea. Not to mention the smell.

At least he _thought _he had. His attempt to clear up the vomit from the hall hadn't gone down too well since his body deemed any movement as completely unnecessary, and Sam had dashed back to the bathroom.

He was thirsty. So thirsty his tongue was almost sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, he gingerly stripped down and climbed awkwardly into the bathtub, turning the shower head on full blast. The water was deliciously cold at first on his overheated skin and he held his mouth open, catching and swallowing mouthfuls of liquid, whilst the deluge washed away his shame.

Slumped in the tub Sam remembered the money in his jean pocket; he had to get that out before doing laundry. That was the only thing he could think about, the only thing now clear in his mind.

_Dean's money. Can't forget Dean's money. Impala's money…_

Sam moaned loudly as another cramp tortured his poor stomach and tears rolled down his face. He'd never felt so ashamed and depressed, felt sure that when Dean found out about this he'd make his life even more miserable.

The water was starting to warm up a little which helped ease his aches and pains, and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Which was how John and Dean found him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was approaching the front door when John pulled up alongside in his black truck, and he turned rather surprised to see him back so late. Even more surprising, he hadn't noticed the truck wasn't parked up already when he arrived.

"Hey Dad, what took ya so long." Dean quirked an eyebrow. "You only just got back?"

"What? You're my keeper now?" John grouched back. He obviously wasn't in too good a mood.

"Whoa!" Dean held out his hands. "Sorry I spoke! Just didn't realise I'd left Sam alone all this time." He studied his father's deep frown. "Trouble?"

John shook his head. "Nah, nothin' serious. I got the rock salt, and tried to get hold of some silver ammo but no one's selling."

Dean frown matched his Dad's perfectly. "We out?"

"Not yet, but if we take that job in place of Caleb we soon will be."

"Huh." Dean looked thoughtful, fumbling in his pocket for the keys. "Don't worry Dad. We can pick some up on the way. Did that last time we passed through remember?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." John muttered tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "I just like to be organised is all."

Dean smirked knowing his father only too well. Caleb was recovering from a broken leg and had to take a back seat on a possible werewolf sighting, leaving Bobby Singer to tackle it by himself. Which was never wise.

"How's the car?" Asked John absentmindedly as Dean fitted the key in the lock.

"She'll live. Gonna cost a small fortune but I got it covered." A small snick and the key turned. "No thanks to Sammy."

John smiled at him. "Don't be too hard on the kid. It was accident."

"Yeah, I know." Dean finally got the door open and stopped when the smell hit him full in the face.

Rancid, bitter…_sick!_

Pushing his way in with his father crowding after him Dean picked up his pace, a tight band of worry circling his chest. "Sammy? You ok?..._Oh God_!" The bag of Sam's takeout food dropped unnoticed out of Dean's hand.

He'd never been so grateful for wearing biker boots at that moment when the carpet under foot gave out a suspicious _squelch!_

That did it, and both Winchester's raced round the apartment searching for their youngest.

"Sam?"

"Come on Sammy, answer me…" then "_Dad he's in here!_"

They found the boy curled in on himself in the bathtub, naked, shivering and whimpering in pain.

"Get me that towel!" John barked out, turning off the shower and pulling the poor kid into his arms. "Sam?" He called gently. "Sammy can you hear me kiddo?"

Dean wrapped a thick towel round his little brother, smoothing the sopping wet hair back from his forehead.

"Dad he's burning up."

John nodded. "Let's get him dried off and dressed, see if we can't get some aspirin into him."

"_Dean…"_ Dazed, over bright eyes cracked open, sluggishly searching the room, until they settled on his big brother. "_P...pocket…money…yours…"_

Dean stared into Sam's face as the kid blinked up at him. "What? Sorry bro you aint makin' a lick o'sense." He raised his head to meet his father's concerned gaze. "What's he talking about pocket money for?"

John was thoroughly but gently drying Sam's hair with another towel. "Don't think _he _knows right now."

But Sam started struggling in his arms. "_No…money…m-my p-pocket…D-Dean's…" _and made a feeble attempt to launch himself out of the tub. He collapsed back against his father's chest instead, panting heavily, staring forlornly at his discarded jeans.

"_M-money…D…Dean…car" _he muttered over and over, becoming less coherent each time, head lolling bonelessly against John's shoulder. But Dean heard it and his heart plummeted.

_He's sick and more worried about the Impala._

"Dean take him for me," John handed Sam over to his brother so he could climb out of the tub safely. "I'll go get the first aid kit."

Dean nodded, worriedly taking in the tears on Sam's face, the sad eyes, hitched breathing, and the heat pouring off him. "Come on Sammy. Let's go get you comfortable."

By the time John turned up in Sam's room, carrying water and aspirin, Dean had the kid dressed in soft PJs, trying to tuck him under the covers. But Sam was putting up a fight, throwing the blankets off one moment, clutching his stomach and crying out in pain the next.

"Shhh Sammy just stay still," Dean glanced up at his Dad, frowning. "What's _wrong _with him?"

"Wish I knew," John passed him the water. "Try and get him to drink some of this. That amount of puking, kid's bound to be dehydrated."

"Here ya go Sammy," Dean placed the cup against Sam's mouth, feeling a small amount of relief when his brother eagerly sipped the water like a baby bird. "Slow it down kiddo, you've been sick enough for one night huh?"

Sam didn't seem to understand and whimpered when Dean held the cup away to keep him from gulping.

"Ssshhh, its ok little bro. You can have some more in a sec."

Pulling an ear thermometer cap from its sterile wrapping John set about getting a temperature reading, and frowned when the thing bleeped at him.

"Damnit!"

Dean glanced up sharply. "What's it say?"

"103.1."

"Shit!"

"Yeah, look Dean." John got up and left the thermometer on the nightstand. "Stay with him. I'm gonna clean up the bathroom just in case he needs cooling down. But if he gets any worse we're taking him straight to the hospital."

Dean didn't say a word, just nodded in agreement.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The bathroom was a mess, just like the hallway.

John cleaned out the bath, the toilet and started on the tiled floor, pausing to pick up Sam's soiled clothes.

A rustling in the pocket of the boy's jeans made him pause then tentatively reach in, pulling out two small pieces of paper that looked suspiciously like receipts, and some cash.

Seventy five dollars worth of cash.

He frowned. _How did he get hold of this?_

Several pennies dropped into place when he read the receipts, and John abruptly headed to his youngest son's bedroom.

Dean was comforting a distressed Sam as best he could, but the poor kid threw up every molecule of water, including the aspirin, and was growing more agitated by the second.

"Dean," John spoke up quietly, "I think you should see this."

When he held out his hand with the receipts and cash, Dean took them carefully, his eyes widening with sorrow when he came to the same conclusions as his father.

"Oh Sammy, what the hell were ya thinking buddy?" Dean's eyes brimmed with tears as he gently took hold of Sam's wrist. "He sold his watch Dad, the one you gave him. He did it to help pay for the car…"

Sam's head tipped to the side, eyes rolling drunkenly, breathing harsh as he shivered. "_S'yours….De…" _He blinked heavily, began panting desperately and more water bubbled out of his mouth. _"ha…t…my…f…fffffault…" _Sam sobbed out brokenly.

John grabbed the thermometer again, placed it Sam's ear and swore loudly at the new readout. "Get him to the truck. Hospital _now_!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The drive was no picnic for the Winchesters, Dean holding Sam in his arms on the back seat, John trying his best to concentrate on the road and block out his youngest son's pitiful moans.

Dean whispered to his brother, trying to keep him calm but in truth Dean was the one freaking out.

"Just hold still Sammy. Nearly there now." Dean tugged the blanket tighter round the kid when the shivering got worse. "I'm so sorry Sam, so damn sorry. I'm gonna get your watch back for ya, and if I can't I'll buy you a new one…a better one huh? One with a compass maybe, you like the sound of that little bro?"

The timing was impeccable. No sooner had the truck pulled into the hospital parking lot, than Sam let out a choked gurgling noise just as the shivers grew more violent. In the next moment they turned into full on convulsions and Dean was yelling at his Dad to hurry.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam stared fearfully into the dark, strange shadows shifting all around him, almost human but not quite. Sometimes he thought he could make out a familiar face or two, but they quickly hid themselves, snidely laughing at him.

Sam felt trapped, suffocating in the heat, his body burning up. There was something over his face but couldn't see it, couldn't reach up to remove it.

When the shadows shifted again Sam began hyperventilating with panic. Terrifying growls and angry hissing came from just ahead and as he squinted into the darkness something came at him with a hellish roar, something that gleamed black and silver. Sam couldn't move, glued to the spot and petrified beyond belief as the main beams flickered on, blinding him.

The Impala snarled before taking that final leap.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam had seized twice in the last hour and the staff were having some considerable trouble getting his fever down.

Dean and John watched through the window of the intensive care unit, noses almost pressed up against the glass, as if it made all the difference. Sam was on a cocktail of antibiotics, nutrients and God knew what else; his body was badly in need of rehydration. The kid shivered harshly, panting under the oxygen mask, face dripping with sweat. They didn't need to be in the same room to know Sam was in pain

"Is he gonna be ok?" Dean asked, voice hesitant, still not taking his eyes off the kid.

"I just don't know son." John replied sadly. "He's pretty sick."

Conversation was stilted, neither man really knowing what to say. At this stage Dean was just relieved his father hadn't yelled at him, though the possibility was still on the cards.

The diagnosis had been severe food poisoning, and as soon as the judgment left the good doctor's mouth Dean knew.

Those damn chicken steaks. _Had _to be.

The severity of the illness suggested, contrary to Dean's original musings back at the bar, Sam had _eaten_ _the entire plateful_

_Damnit! How could I be so stupid?_

Dean had stood by and watched as his little brother swallowed food not fit for human consumption, then went out and feasted on a delicious burger. He'd played a cruel prank, which in hindsight wasn't all that funny, feeding Sam extra hot chilli he _knew_ the kid hated, and effectively _poisoned _him.

Add to that Sam's bare wrist, the receipt from the pawn brokers and seventy five bucks, and Dean's heart was shattering. The only reason he couldn't hear it was because Sam's whimpers of pain kept echoing round his head, drowning out everything else.

"I nearly killed 'im Dad," He finally broke, turned his back to lean against the window and slid down, burying his face in both hands. "And he still might fucking die!"

A steadying hand on his shoulder made him look up into John Winchester's solemn face.

"Now's not the time son," his Dad declared evenly. "Sam needs us right now, and he needs to know you forgive him."

"What?" Dean glared at him incredulously. "_It's just a car! There's __**nothing**__ to forgive…"_

John reached down with both hands and hauled him up by his jacket, until they were nose to nose. "Sam's only fourteen years old, he had a big falling out with his brother, and he's very sick." John didn't sound or look angry, just heartbroken. He slowly released Dean and gently smoothed down his lapels. "_He_ doesn't know that."

Dean turned to stare at his little brother through the window once more. "Can I go in now?"

"That's ma boy." John nodded approvingly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The Impala swept right through him, as though he wasn't even there. Sam's gaze cast around in surprise and bewilderment. The shadows were gradually fading, the darkness lifting, but it was oh so slow.

He wanted to leave, get back to his family, had no idea how he'd got here in the first place.

Sam started walking.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

His brother's hands were freezing to the touch, Dean noted as he sat on the edge of Sam's bed and gently chafed them, trying to warm them up. The good news being Sam had gone three hours without a febrile seizure, but unfortunately the fever still hadn't broken.

The kid whimpered and moaned through the oxygen mask, head sometimes restlessly rolling from side to side. Occasionally his eyes would open and gaze blearily up at his brother, though Dean wasn't entirely sure he knew what was going on.

"S'alright Sammy, I'm right here. Not leavin' ya."

"_De…g-got m-money…_" Sam panted away, still desperate to get his message across.

Dean smiled down at him sadly. "Yeah, I know buddy. I know what ya did and I'm so prouda you. The car's gonna be fine." Sniffing softly, he blinked back tears. "But ya didn't need to do that for me. I'd never ask you to sell that watch; I know how much you love it."

Sam blinked, confused. "_w-wat…watch? G-gone..din d-deserrvveeitanyhow…_"

"Aw Sam, of course you deserved it." _God the kid was breaking his heart all over again._ "And we're gonna get it back for you. Dad's taking care of that right now, so just hang on ok? Keep fighting Sammy."

"_Y-you f-forgivem?"_ Sam mumbled around another bad bout of shivering, and Dean could only just about understand.

"Yeah Sammy I forgive you if that makes you feel better, but ya know? There's nothing to forgive," he squeezed Sam's hand and smiled when he felt it weakly returned. "It was an accident ok? Just an accident. Weren't your fault kiddo."

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment then fell into an exhausted restless sleep.

"How's he doing?" John's voice from the door caught Dean's attention.

"No change but at least he aint gettin' worse," He turned back to Sam, gently stroking the side of the kid's face. "That's something to be thankful for."

John quietly stepped over to the bed, a small parcel in his hands. "Maybe next time he's awake he'll know what this is." And placed it on the nightstand.

Dean glanced at it. "You got it back, huh? Any trouble?"

John shook his head. "Nah. He was only too glad to hand it over. Said he felt sorry for the poor kid and hoped he'd come back to collect it." He wondered whether or not to mention it but then it seemed only fair to Sam. "He asked if Sam was feeling ok now. Said he was looking pretty sick and even asked to use his bathroom."

Dean gazed at Sam in wonder and sadness.

"That kid sure does love you Dean."

_I know._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The fever finally broke a few hours before dawn and Dean went from deep sleep to fully awake the minute his brother stirred.

"Sammy?"

"Hmm." The answer was more of a tired sigh.

"How ya feelin' buddy?"

Sam eyes sluggishly blinked open and he turned his head to find Dean's worried gaze on him. Confusion was rife, but guilt took hold.

"Sorry 'bout the car. Saw the bill Dean. Didn't mean it...didn't mean to do that...sorry." Sam seemed so upset that it was all Dean could do to not start crying again.

"I know ya didn't. Coulda happened to anyone..."

Sam was shaking his head, wincing in pain. "No. I know how much that car means to you." Tears dripped down his face. "So...so _sorry!_"

"Sam stop!" Dean leaned forward, fixing Sam with the big brother gaze that was impossible for Sam to deny. "Why did you eat it? The chicken I mean? The _whole plate?_"

John had been out talking to Sam's doctor, and arrived just in time to hear this. He stood just out of sight behind the door.

Sam shrugged. "You made it for me," he said simply.

But Dean wasn't buying it. "You knew there was something wrong. You tried to tell me." He stared hard at him. "Why Sam?"

Sam's mouth fell open in a gape. "It's wrong to waste food Dean, Dad taught us both that." Sad eyes pleaded with his older brother and Dean knew this time it was the truth: "But _you_ made it for me."

_Oh Christ!_

Not only had he poisoned his little brother but he'd betrayed his trust too.

John, from his hiding place behind the door, was going through his own guilt trip. He remembered the peanut butter and jelly incident. Sam hated the stuff, but it was cheap and necessary. When he caught Sam throwing the sandwich away he'd gone ballistic, started spouting on about his marine days and what a spoilt brat Sam was daring to complain, how he should be grateful for _any_ food in his stomach. Then he'd turned the kid over his knee.

And whilst some of it was a valid point of view, he really hadn't meant it to come to this, hadn't meant for Sam to become so traumatised that he couldn't speak up when something was wrong.

And, now that he realised it, the really _stupid fucking thing _was, Sam _hadn't _complained. Not once. Just thrown the sandwich away and said nothing. Said nothing about how he wasn't eating in school lunch breaks, and never mentioned how all the other kids were drinking sodas or chocolate milk whilst Sam was just drinking water. It was Dean that clued John in to that, which was why he'd confronted Sam at the time.

As always John had assumed it was just Sam being a picky little brat.

But John knew his sons were anything but spoiled, just the opposite. So...

_Why? What on God's Earth ever brought me to that conclusion?_

He shook his head, wondering if he'd ever know the answer. But at least he knew he'd been wrong.

So very wrong.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean wasn't doing much better, and it was time to come clean.

"Sammy that meat was spoiled," he stared hard at his brother, "When I took it out of the cooler I checked the use by date and it was three days over."

Sam's eyes filled with tears as he gaped. "You...you hated me that much?" he whispered sadly. "I mean...the chilli was bad enough..."

Dean was already shaking his head in firm denial. "No! Sam that's not it." He reached over and grabbed both his little brother hands, smoothing his thumbs over the soft knuckles. "I swear that's not it at all. I honestly thought it would be ok. If I'd had _any_ idea what would happen...what it would do to you...Sammy...I could never hate you little bro. You hearing me? _Never!_"

Sam's tears were free falling down his pale face, body trembling with emotion and exhaustion. When Dean pulled him into his arms, he went willingly, burying his face in the older boy's chest and sobbing his heart out.

"M'sorry...don't wanna cry...such a wuss..." Sam muttered, voice muffled by Dean's shirt.

"Ssshhhh." Dean whispered to him, gently rubbing his back. There were plenty of smart-assed remarks he could have made to that, but now wasn't the time. "It's ok. You're still plenty sick and need some proper sleep. That's all it is Sammy. Just go to sleep. You'll feel better for it."

"Are you going back to the apartment soon?" His brother's small voice made him smile.

"Nuhuh kiddo. M'stayin' right here." Dean cupped the back of Sam's head in support, resting his chin on the boy's scalp. "Sleep Sammy." He whispered again.

John smiled tenderly. His boys had made peace with each other and hopefully Dean would forgive himself as easily as Sam had.

Making sure they were both asleep, Dean lying next to Sam on the bed, John quietly crept over and turned down the light. Wrapping a blanket round his own shoulders, he resolved to spend the night in the comfortable looking arm chair by the window. Leaning back and stifling a groan of contentment at finally getting the weight off his tired feet, John stared out into the dark world behind the glass, watching the distant sky glimmering with the first rays of dawn. It didn't take him long to join his sons in a deep and restful slumber.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

They'd all had a long week, nearly losing Sammy, Dean and John waking up to a few startling home truths, and Sam's diving watch still sat in its packaging on the nightstand.

John looked forward to handing it back to his youngest son; Sam deserved it after all the trouble he'd gone to for his brother. The cash he'd found in Sam's pocket was wrapped around the watch, including the fifty five dollars from the pawnbroker; as far as John and Dean was concerned that money belonged to Sam. The car repairs were already paid for out of Dean's poker money, along with the pawnbroker, with plenty to spare for the three big juicy sirloin steaks he planned on buying the day Sam got his walking papers from the doc.

John grinned at that. "You think Sam's gonna trust you in the kitchen again sport?"

"Shut up Dad!" Dean replied with a mock glower, but John had seen the worry in his eyes as that sunk in and immediately regretted it.

When they finally got the youngster home, Sam stumbled tiredly into the living room, fell on the couch and was asleep almost instantly.

"Shouldn't we wake him Dad?" Dean studied his brother anxiously. "He needs to eat, and the doc said to make sure he gets plenty of fluids."

"Leave him Dean, let him rest for now." John responded kindly. "We got plenty of time."

Sam slept all the way through to early evening and woke up slowly to find himself still sprawled out on the sofa, a warm blanket covering him from feet right all the way up to his nose.

Dean was watching TV with the sound turned down but glanced over with a small grin when he saw a pair of sleepy eyes staring at him over the top of the blanket.

"Hey kiddo, feel better for the rest?"

Sam dropped the blanket down from his face with a wide yawn, nodding slowly. "Yeaaaahhh! Sure do." Rubbing his eyes and scratching his chest, he yawned again and Dean couldn't help chuckling. "What's for dinner? I'm starved."

Dean's grin faded a little at that, and he lost his nerve. "Uh...I bought us some steaks...but Dad's in the bath right now, so..."

"Dean," Sam stilled and gazed at his older brother, sensing his worry. "Why don't we _both_ go start dinner so it's ready when Dad gets out?" When Dean said nothing just swallowed hard and glanced away face wracked with guilt, Sam added softly, eyes twinkling with kindness and understanding. "It's ok ya know? We all make mistakes and we've all eaten food well after their sell by dates before and been ok. We just got unlucky this time."

Dean bent his head and took a deep breath, blowing it out all in one short puff before answering. "Come on then runt." He stood and offered Sam a hand up. "Let's go be domestic."

Sam grinned as he followed his brother into the kitchen.

Dean smirked and held something out. It was pink, flowery and plastic.

"M' not wearin' an apron dude." Sam muttered and swatted at Dean's hand when his brother reached out to ruffle his hair.

"But you're such a cute little bitch in an apron!" Dean laughed loudly and dodged a well aimed kick.

"_You _wear it then _Jerk!_" Sam countered, still grinning and successfully grabbed his brother up in a headlock. "Who's the bitch now huh?"

Dean was taken completely by surprise; given how sick his kid brother had been recently he was amazed at his speed and strength, and Dean couldn't help the twinge of pride and admiration. But he soon recovered, twisting and spinning easily out of Sam's hold until he had the kid pinned firmly but gently face down on the kitchen table, mindful of his sore stomach.

"Truce?"

"Truce." Sam replied with a laugh.

"So, steak and eggs?" Dean stepped back and carefully pulled him up.

Sam's grin turned a little sly as he nodded. "Sure. I'll do the eggs."

And so it transpired that when John appeared at the kitchen door some minutes later, towelling his hair dry, the boys hadn't noticed in the midst of battle and a lone egg went sailing through the air.

Dean, having depleted his supply of ammunition, i.e. self-raising flour, simply ducked.

The room suddenly went very quiet as the boys froze, watching with fearful fascination as the gooey contents of the egg slid down John's face and dripped off his chin. The oldest Winchester stood in a moment of quiet contemplation then almost elegantly spat out a few pieces of shell and yolk.

Remembering the Winchester family rule about not wasting food, the egg-flour-coated brothers shuffled non-too subtly together, heads bent, awaiting their inevitable fate.

They were rather surprised when...

"So I take it eggs are off the menu tonight?" John enquired dryly.

A guilty "Uh...yes Sir!" was called out in _perfect _unison.

"Huh." Followed by the crinkle of paper and a tearing noise.

John roared a sudden terrifying war cry and charged his sons with a large bag of sugar.

And the red mist descended.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam patted his full stomach. "Wow that was great Dean!" He smiled at his older brother then started laughing. "Might wanna take a shower though Chicken Licken!"

Dean reached up a hand to feel the crusty remains of sugar, flour and egg caking his hair. He grimaced. "Take a look in the mirror Clucky."

The kitchen was a mess, egg, flour and sugar decorating every available surface.

_And some not so available _John thought to himself, squirming slightly. _How the hell did it get down there?!_

Gathering the plates and shoving them in the sink, John chortled softly. He didn't look so great either but the steak sandwiches Dean had prepared were succulent and tasty, and certainly kept him in good humour. And even though it went totally against the grain, he'd had fun.

"_Both_ of you go take a shower before I throw you in the oven and bake you for thirty minutes," he announced then looked over at his sons with proud affection. "And leave me some hot water!"

The brothers didn't need to be asked twice and scrambled to be the first in the bathroom. In deference to his brother's recent illness, Dean let Sam win and banged on the locked door with mock annoyance when he heard water running.

"You heard what the guy said Sammy! Take too long and I'll turn you into pancake mix!"

All he got for his troubles was some evil sniggering and Dean smiled happily.

Never again would he allow his brother to eat anything less than decent _fresh_ food. Even if it meant going without himself.

Because his little brother was worth the extra effort.

_That kid sure does love you Dean._

Dean paused by the bathroom door for a second.

"Love you too little bro." He mouthed soundlessly, then headed back to the kitchen to help their Dad with clean up duty.

Sam's watch was waiting for him in the bedroom.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

The usual rules apply with this fic: not too realistic with the timings or the medical stuff, but you know I like to up the angst. And I'm not really sure how John would have reacted to the food fight at the end but I was dying to write it. I saw it all in my head and wanted to get it out.

Also not too sure about how much car repairs cost...and I _know_ Dean or John could've fixed it themselves. But where's the fun in that?

Hope you enjoyed it darlings.

And many thanks go out to all of you for my last posting, including the kind anonymous reviews. Much appreciated as always.

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	11. Bullet the Blue Sky

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times Dean unintentionally hurt his brother.**_

_**Story 11**_

**Bullet The Blue Sky**

_**Title stolen from the track by U2 (The Joshua Tree – 1987)**_

**Sam just wants **_**needs**_** his brother to stop the car. He has something to say before it's too late.**

**Set a little while after Metamorphosis S4.**

I'm a little shaky about this one since it's my first venture into Season 4 and as I'm behind the times over here it's bound to have been covered before, so please read the A/N at the end before commenting. Also, I don't profess to answer any questions or give a happy ending over all. The ending is purely my own speculation.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_If I didn't know you? I would want to hunt you. _

_And so would other hunters._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

They'd been fighting again. And Sam _still_ didn't hit back.

He pressed lightly at the fresh bruise along his jaw and tried not to wince. He really thought they'd settled things after the Rugaru but it soon became apparent that Dean wouldn't let it go; he wasn't convinced by Sam's promise that he wouldn't use his powers again. Perhaps still couldn't forgive Sam for seeing Ruby behind his back.

Sam might've laughed if it didn't hurt his face. Of _course_ he was going to use them but this time he was keeping it an even more closely guarded secret than ever before. He hated Dean's disapproval and Castiel's threat frightened him, but not enough to stop. Not when there were lives at stake.

Which was why he'd made the promise to _himself_. Not to Dean, certainly not to God or some angel, neither of which had even given Sam the time of day in spite of all his prayers. He couldn't break another promise to his brother, but he _could_ easily break a promise to himself. That was allowed right?

But it didn't answer all his questions.

Did using his powers make him a monster? Saving the innocent human host and sending the demon on a one way ticket to hell…_that_ made him a monster? And yet slicing and dicing with Ruby's knife…_that_ _was ok?_

_Fucking _angels.

What exactly were the rules anyhow?

Dean had never trusted Ruby, yet he'd happily use her fucking _knife? _Did anybody ever stop to question that? Where it came from? A blade so sharp it could _cut _the evil _out_ and leave nothing behind worth saving? Kind of like the mythical Grim Reapers scythe only smaller, its target less specific. How could God give his blessing to a barbaric tool with no interest in saving the poor bastard who got caught in the middle? And yet Sam was near enough _condemned?_

He paced the motel room, half tempted to leave, to walk out and not look back much like his brother had threatened not so long ago. The whole thing, _this _whole war wasn't proving _anything_ as far as Sam could see. In God's eyes there was no such thing as innocent, not even a sixth month old child at the mercy of demon blood and a deal struck _before he was even born._

_Oh yeah? Is that __**my**__ fault too?_ Sam sniffed and rubbed a sleeve across his face, angrily wiping away tears of frustration.

_I just want out._

But he _knew_ he couldn't leave. His brother had gone to hell for him, to bring him back from the dead and now God had granted just one prayer: Dean had returned, been _pulled_ out.

To kick his little brother's ass apparently.

Sam issued a vicious kick of his own to the trash can, sending it flying across the room.

_Cold Oak…another deal struck on my behalf…_

A hole appeared in the wall as his fist slammed home.

_I never wanted it…never wanted Dean to go to hell, never wanted to be a freak…__**never asked to be born in the first place! **_

_**I wasn't fucking worth it!**_

Another few punches and he still didn't feel any better; both knuckles were now heavily bruised and bloodied but he only noticed the pain on the _inside._

_No one asked me what I wanted!_

He turned, back sliding down the wall, loud anguished sobs wrenched from his mouth.

"_No one ever asked me…" _Sam whispered, wrapping long arms round his legs, forehead on his knees. _"No one ever asked me…"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean eyed the other players, watching for the tells. And boy, were there plenty!

The dude in the paisley shirt with the lazy eye scratched his nose.

The short fat guy with the ill fitting hair piece chewed nervously on a cocktail stick.

The tall guy, wearing a plain red bandana round his neck, scratched a more personal place like he had crabs or something.

Dean grimaced at that and shifted away slightly. In all he'd won three hundred bucks so far and was set to win another four. Two other guys in black leather biker jackets lounged against the bar watching; they'd both been forced to quit an hour ago and were clearly less than happy.

Dean grinned, flashing white teeth at the furious expressions thrown his way and slowly revealed his hand.

Yep, not bad going considering what little stake money he'd started out with.

"Damnit!" Crab guy slammed his cards down on the table, got to his feet, still scratching, and stalked to the bar. Dean could hear him ranting all the way across the room and decided to ignore him. The guy was right. Dean _had _actually cheated but wasn't about to reveal his secret.

He raised his hands congenially. "Guess some guys just can't stand to lose." Dean shrugged his shoulders in a passing display of sadness.

But the other players just glared at him.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam splashed freezing cold water in his face and leaned on the sink, hot misery still curled tightly in the pit of his stomach. His brother had died and gone to hell, and all Sam could do to thank him was lie, pick a fight, and avoid him whilst Dean was at the bar a few miles down the road having some well deserved fun.

_This is ridiculous. I miss him. _

_I got my brother back and I __**still**__ miss him._

He knew the answer was to spend some time with Dean; if they were to stand any chance of getting through this…_whatever this is_…they needed time.

Sam pulled on his boots, grabbed his wallet and headed out on foot; feeling a little lighter now he'd made a concrete decision.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean slammed his cards down triumphantly and carefully picked up his winnings. Most of the bar clientele were crowing and cheering in delight, knowing there was a trick somewhere but not sure what. They'd enjoyed the show; _their_ money was safe, whilst some other poor suckers had lost a bundle of cash.

The 'suckers' naturally weren't nearly as happy, and Dean could swear there was a certain _atmosphere_ building...when his brother appeared at the table, two cold beers in hand.

"Hey." Sam voice was soft and nervous, hands shaking slightly.

Dean glanced up to find a pair of watery bloodshot blue-green eyes gazing at him, and frowned deeply.

"What you doin' here?" His own voice was neutral but it definitely wasn't welcoming and Sam's shoulders sagged in despair.

That was as far as they got. The trouble Dean sensed brewing earlier was about to hatch out of its shell and it was _time to go_.

A rumbling at the bar was the first giveaway. Crab guy was still ranting about his lost winnings and the bikers were egging him on. Fat hair-piece guy cheered drunkenly, and Paisley guy was just eyeing Dean with bitter malevolence.

Dean shoved his chair away from the table and got to his feet in one smooth move, gently bumping Sam's shoulder in warning.

Misery momentarily forgotten, Sam immediately understood, had already felt the tension rising. He set the untouched beers on the table and followed his brother in a casual saunter across the room, then ducked out into the night.

"Dean?" Sam glanced back anxiously when scuffling and shouting broke out behind them.

"Shut up and get in the car." Dean was already sliding behind the wheel when Paisley guy appeared in the doorway to the bar. He was quickly followed by the biker boys, Crab guy and the guy with the hair piece, all of which bent down and started picking something up from the ground.

Dean didn't need to be a genius to know what that something was and certainly didn't feel the need to hang around and have his suspicions confirmed.

The slam of Sam's door came only a second before the loud thud of the first rock as it hit the roof and bounced off. Dean pressed his foot to the floor and the Impala roared, springing forward. Crab guy obviously had a death wish and made to step in front, forcing Dean to spin the wheel and the car's headlamps swept round the parking lot. Last thing he wanted was a new hood ornament, and besides, no one needed to get hurt; at least not at this stage. Several more rocks thudded into the passenger door and cracked against the windshield. Dean swore viciously as the other poker players surrounded the car.

"Let me guess," Sam clenched his teeth in anger. "You cheated them out of their money right?"

Neither brother saw the glint of metal in Paisley's hand.

"S'what we do best, Sam." Dean responded just as tightly, a nasty smug grin on his face. "I cheat, you lie."

Sam flinched and turned away, knowing it was true and unable to deny it. Dean's sharp, harsh laugh echoed round the car when Paisley stepped up again.

Another loud crack and the windshield gave way completely, shattering glass all over the brothers. Shaking his head and feeling shards pricking his scalp Dean stomped on the gas, no longer caring if he hit anyone.

_I've fixed worst dents on this car. She'll live._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It took Sam several minutes to understand what had happened. Blinking furiously, he took a look down at the warm dark stain spreading over his shirt, way too close to his heart.

And still it didn't sink in. Not until they were speeding away into the darkness, the shouts of abuse long behind them, and even then he wasn't quite sure what to say. By that point he wasn't sure he had the strength to say _anything._

Dean was silent the whole time, jaw clenched stubbornly, completely oblivious to his brother's predicament.

Sam gradually became aware that his breathing wasn't quite right, his head light and dizzy. More worryingly, pain was creeping in, blossoming deep inside and made all the worse as he began to shiver.

_No glass in the windshield…no wonder I'm cold. _He thought dazedly.

The light headedness grew worse and he began to feel sick. Dean was pissed enough without Sam hurling in the car on top of all their other problems.

"Dean," he finally rasped out, "pull over."

"Why?" Dean snapped back without as much as a glance in his direction. "So you can get out and pitch a bitch fit at me like last time?" He ground his teeth together, trying to keep his anger in. This wasn't his little brother's fault but Sam was there in the flesh and Dean needed to vent. He scowled. "So I cheated those guys yeah, I'm an asshole so send me to hell... oh no wait! Already been there to save _your _ungrateful ass!" Dean's fist suddenly slammed into the steering wheel. "_You_ cheated _ME, _Sam. You _sonofabitch_, you cheated me, broke your promise _after I went to hell for you!_" What sounded suspiciously like a sob broke out followed by a small sniff. "I did it for you Sammy." He whispered, concentration furiously trained hard on the road ahead.

Sam could barely keep awake, but kept watching his heart broken brother through half-closed eyes, tears of sorrow rolling down his face.

"_S-sorry."_ It came out as a whisper but Dean heard it and slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.

Sam grunted in pain as he thrown against the dashboard and fell back again.

"You're fucking _sorry?_" Dean roared suddenly, and lunged across the seat, grabbing Sam by his shirt. "_You little…_"

And stopped, eyebrows twitching in confusion. "Sam?"

Sam sat slumped in his seat with something dark streaming from his mouth, head draped helplessly over the seat back as he gasped and choked. The material beneath Dean's hand was warm, sodden, and smelled of blood.

"Sammy?" Dean released his brother's shirt and turned on the interior light, gasping in shock. "Oh God Sammy what happened?"

Sam blinked furiously as he slowly raised his head and looked down at his shirt again. "_th…think…s'mon sh-shot me?_" His head fell back again and tried to shift in his seat but all he got for his troubles was a sharp spike of pain through his chest, and he began panting out a broken whimper.

"Jesus!" Dean was already frantically shrugging out of his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. "Take it easy, don't move."

But there was so much blood soaking Sam's shirt, the waist-band of his jeans, pouring out of his mouth…as he worked Dean listened to his brother's soft moans, his shuddering fight to pull in a lungful of air.

"It's gonna be ok Sam. Here…take this, keep the pressure on." Dean pressed his balled up shirt to the chest wound, and placed the kid's own hand over it. Sam responded by letting out a faint breathless groan, his hand sliding away, too weak to help himself by now.

"No! Sam please…hold it there…gotta stop the bleeding." Dean begged shamelessly, voice shaky. "Please Sammy!"

Sam's eyes swivelled slowly to meet his, head rolling to the side.

"_D-don't r…regret…_" He whispered, grimacing at the effort it cost but he had to get it out.

Dean tucked his jacket round Sam's torso. "Yeah ok, whatever," he replied fearfully not really listening. "Just hold tight. I'm gonna get us to the ER. You'll be fine." But he didn't sound any more convinced than Sam felt.

Sam smiled weakly, shivering a little more as the shock caught hold. He had to make him listen, to understand.

Before Dean could set off again, Sam reached out and opened his door, falling out sideways onto the road, hearing his brother yelling out his name in disbelief.

"Sammy what the hell?!" Dean was out, running round the car and pulling Sam into his arms. "What the…?"

"_Dean…"_ Sam's head had cracked against the hard tarmac but compared to his other injury it barely registered on the same scale. He gripped Dean's tee-shirt weakly in both fists as his brother tried to shove him back inside the car. "_Dean…n-need to t-tell...tellyou…"_

Dean's voice was desperate with fear. "You can tell me later, ok? I promise. Just let me get ya to a hospital." He tried to smile down at him as he tugged his injured brother up into the passenger seat, but tears burned his eyes, blurring Sam's sad face.

Sam shook his head determinedly, not caring as the world spun round him with the movement.

"_N-no…"_ He whimpered, vision beginning to grey out, head lolling on Dean's shoulder. _"H-have to n-now..'fore…t-toolate…"_

Dean felt his frustration and anger building up, anger at himself for not realising sooner that his kid brother was badly hurt, for not finding help faster…but Sam was just staring up at him with glazed eyes, begging him to listen.

And judging by the amount of blood Dean wondered if maybe that was all he could do for him now.

_No!_ Every neuron in his body sat up and screamed blue fury at the notion. He'd listen alright. But Sam was getting that bullet cut out of him tonight one way or another, and by letting him talk he could keep him awake.

"Ok Sammy," Dean relented and whispered softly in Sam's ear, gently stroking his scalp. "You talk, I'll drive. Deal?"

Sam carried on staring at him for a moment longer and Dean wondered if he'd understood, but then he just nodded wearily and allowed his brother to fold him into the passenger seat, leather jacket tucked round him once again.

This time Dean laid Sam's head in his lap, keeping one hand over his brother's, the two of them pressing down hard on the wound, but he also kept both ears open.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean crept into Sam's room watching his brother warily. It was _hours_ after their dramatic entrance at the ER, when Sam had taken about all he could, given everything he had to stay alive. Dean had half-dragged half-carried him into the waiting room yelling for help just as Sam's breathing gave out and his heart packed in.

Dean remembered it all; the slow collapse as the kid's knees buckled, head slipping back against Dean's chest, mouth falling open, eyes sliding shut.

"_No! Don't you dare! Sammy don't you fucking dare!"_

He remembered yelling, cursing, hands slick with Sam's blood as he struggled to hold on to him. People in green scrubs were talking to him, telling him to let go.

That part…was just _dumb_, made no sense at _all_, watching Sam whisked away behind security doors, hearing the sharp thump of the paddles as someone tried to restart his heart…

Dean huffed out a tired breath and slowly sat in the chair by Sam's bed.

Most of all he remembered what Sam told him in the car.

"_Tried t...ta...g-getyouout..."_

"_D-Dean…j-justletmego…" he whispered breathlessly and Dean was shaking his head in denial. "P-please…b-betterthisway…y-ya won'tneedtohuntme…_

"_Sam…" Dean murmured sadly._

"_S'ok." Sam gave his hand a weak squeeze. "Meant it. D-don't regret…br-breaking m'pro-promise."_

_Dean cast him a sharp look then returned his gaze to the road, saying nothing to that._

"_S-savedthosepeople…can'tregretit..d-don'tmatterwhereIgonow…" Sam blinked and gasped, straining to get out his last words. "B-but…I d-do...regrethurtingyou..letyoudown…"_

_Sam became incoherent after that but Dean, heart breaking, kept him talking, kept him awake..._

He swept a quick sad gaze up and down his brother's form, taking in the steady rise and fall of his chest as the vent pushed air into Sam's lungs, the soft reassuring bleep of the heart monitor.

It really was bordering on a miracle he'd survived this far. The emergency op had saved his life with little time to spare, the surgeon quickly finding the bullet and repairing most of the damage. Damn thing had nicked his heart causing a massive bleed and placed a tremendous strain on his body.

But the doc wasn't too hopeful about Sam's prognosis. The shock and resulting blood loss had been too much for the kid, sending him into a deep coma.

"Kid…I keep calling you that huh?" Dean leaned forward, desperately clutching at a cold hand. "You're a man now. Have been for some time and I keep forgetting that, not sure I noticed when it...see, you'll always be my little brother Sammy, and no one can take that away from me. Not even you."

Sam remained completely still, no sign he'd heard a thing. The device strapped over his mouth holding the ET tube in place put Dean in mind of the face-huggers from the Alien movies, though somehow right at that moment it seemed far scarier than anything Sigourney Weaver had ever come up against.

But at least it was keeping his little brother alive. For now at any rate.

Dean had no idea what to say, how to make it right. "Just…don't let go, ok? 'Cos _I _aint gonna." In a rare moment of fear, loneliness and fatigue, Dean lifted Sam's hand and placed a hard kiss on the back of his brother's lax fingers.

"Tried it once, didn't like it." A soft sad smile passed briefly across Dean's face followed by fierce determination. "M'not letting go little bro so don't make me or _I'm telling_!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Ruby had tried to put in an appearance by all accounts but given that it was family visits only, coupled with only one visitor at a time – _and guess who that was_ – the medical staff had put pay to her efforts, keeping her well and truly off the intensive care unit and away from Sam.

The fact she'd shown up at all meant the smile on Dean's face held absolutely no humour whatsoever. She wouldn't give up and he knew it. Hence the Devil's Trap on the ceiling above the door.

Bobby was on his way though Dean assured him it wasn't necessary. The grizzled hunter had snorted indignantly, said something rude followed by "Be there in a few days", then hung up.

Dean sighed and smoothed back Sam's hair, feeling his cool forehead with relief. Still no sign of post-op infection. So far so good.

The pack of cards on the rolling table kept him amused when TV became too dull. Playing poker against an unconscious brother would've proved lucrative if Sam had any stake money. As it was he had to rely on match sticks and loose change, but for some very strange reason Dean didn't cheat once.

He'd had plenty of time to think.

Sam didn't regret going against Dean's dying wish, developing and using his powers under Ruby's tutorage, instead of hacking away uncaring of the loss of life. That took him back to a conversation that felt like a hundred years ago now; Sam prayed every day, hoped that by saving innocent lives he in turn could wipe the slate clean and be saved. He _believed. _And Dean was more than aware of the responsibility Sam still felt over Jessica Moore's death, amongst others. So yeah, Dean could understand it, if grudgingly.

But what of God? What was his take on this?

And that had opened a whole other playing field of confusion for Sam.

But as much as Dean wanted to help him, he _had_ to stop Sam.

He'd seen Hell, _seen_ what it could do. And that was his biggest fear. Castiel's warning hadn't been subtle. More of a threat in fact.

If Sam didn't stop using his powers, was Hell where he'd end up once Castiel had finished with him?

Unbidden, a memory of the frantic car journey to the ER returned.

_S-savedthosepeople…can'tregretit..d-don'tmatterwhereIgonow._

_Don't matter where I go now._

Dean stared in horror at his little brother. Apparently Sam had already guessed the answer, and didn't care.

The door slipped open quietly and a petite nurse bearing a dark ponytail appeared with a clipboard, smiling and nodding as she went over her checklists. Dean, deep in thought, didn't really notice anything until she spoke.

"He's doing worse than I expected."

There was something in her tone. Eyes narrowed he studied her movements and body language; it didn't take him long to figure it out.

"Ruby!" He snarled and leapt out of his chair, shoving her away from Sam's bed. "Stay the fuck away from him bitch! And how the hell did you get in here?"

Her eyes flickered black as she raised her hands in surrender. "Whoa truce ok? To answer your question? That's my little secret." Removing the elastic band with a grimace she shook out her hair a little impatiently. "I'm here to help."

Dean's sneer told her exactly what he thought of her particular brand of help. "In exchange for what? His _soul_?"

Her eyes rolled like a slot machine until brown eyes stared up at him almost pitying. "Forget what I did for you once, huh Dean?" Ruby moved in closer, voice honey soft. "The coven, the hex? Nearly took you apart from the inside out and I saved you, remember?"

In contrast Dean's voice was like granite. "How could I forget?"

Ruby nodded slowly, eyes not leaving his. "Sam's fighting very hard but it's not enough and you know it."

Dean said nothing to that. He knew it was true alright, could see his brother deteriorating day by day, and the longer he stayed under the less likely his chances of coming round.

"I can bring him out of this." Ruby suddenly sounded a little desperate. "Let me bring him back right now, Dean. Please. No one's trading their soul to do this, we all come out intact. I promise."

Dean frowned, still staying silent. _You know what you can do with your promises!_

"Oh come on!" The demon swung round in frustration, stalking to the other side of the room and back. "I'm offering a genuine get-of-coma-free card and all you can do is stand there, saying _nothing?_" She sneered at him. "Or are you waiting for your precious fucking _Angel_ to show up and help? 'Cos let me tell ya _that_ aint happening. Sam's blood has him already tried and found guilty; the guys upstairs are just _waiting_ for him to slip up so they can hand him his sentence. And they'll be rubbing their sweaty little angelic palms with glee!"

That did it. "_Get out!_" Dean suddenly roared. "You stay the fuck away from my brother or I swear to God I'll _gut you with your own knife_!" The blade in question appeared as if by magic in Dean's hand, glinting in the dull light of Sam's reading lamp.

If Ruby seemed taken aback by his reaction she showed no sign, just hung her head in defeat. "Fine. Play it your way for now." Before she left she pleaded once more. "Just give it some more thought, before it's too late for him."

Once again left alone with his brother, Dean stood there at a complete loss already doubting his decision.

_I've done the right thing._

_Haven't I?_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Wake up…hey Dean? Wake up now."

Dean sat bolt upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Bobby?"

A pair of shaggy eyebrows and a worried smile came into view. "Yeah kid it's me."

Stretching and yawning, Dean risked a glance over at the motionless form on the bed. "How long ya been here?"

"An hour or so," the older man held out a Styrofoam cup. "Thought you might use some wide-awake juice."

Dean had left instructions at the front desk that 'Uncle' Bobby Singer was to be directed straight up to Sam's room, disregarding the 'one visitor at a time' rule. On arrival, Bobby had been dismayed at the state of Dean's little brother, skin pale with dark shadows under his eyes, completely at the mercy of a machine to keep him breathing. But in some ways Dean looked a whole lot worse; haunted, suffering, barely sleeping by the looks of things, so Bobby was reluctant to disturb him at first. But time was running out for the youngest Winchester and they needed to move fast.

"You ok kid?" Bobby enquired.

Dean came right out and said it. "Ruby was here, in Sam's room. Possessed one of the nurses and waltzed right in."

"Ok," Bobby nodded slowly. "And?"

Dean pointed tiredly at the Devil's trap above the door.

"I see." The older hunter moved over to examine it. "She's more powerful this time round huh?" He remarked after a few minutes silence.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Dean nodded. "Yup. Either that or she ran into Meg downstairs. And wouldn't that be just like the little bitch to pass on a few new tricks of the trade."

"So," Bobby turned, one eyebrow raised. "What she want?"

Dean's mouth scrunched up in distaste. "Said she could help Sam, bring him round."

"She mention how?"

"Not exactly but she did say it weren't a soul auction."

"Uhuh. That's good." Bobby moved to sit back down in the chair opposite Dean's. "What stopped ya?"

Given what happened last time it wasn't an unreasonable question.

Dean shrugged helplessly. "She's a demon, what more reason do I need? We haven't exactly..." A harsh intake of breath made him look up. "What?"

"Ya better take a good look son." Bobby was suddenly standing over Sam's bed, a worried frown etched into his face. "I think she already worked her mojo just by being here."

Dean's gaze shot to his brother. Sam's eyelids were fluttering, mouth twitching round the vent.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam's head felt like lead, his eyes even heavier. Someone was squeezing his hand, talking softly, and it took him a few moments to realise it was Dean.

One more burst of effort and finally there was light cutting through the darkness behind his lids to reveal the worried smile of his brother.

His sluggish thoughts frightened him; Sam had no idea where he was or how he came to be there, but most scary of all he could barely move.

"Hey kiddo," Dean's smiled seemed to wilt as Sam struggled to stay awake. "No ya don't... stay awake! Doc's on his way…no, don't you dare…_Sammy!_"

He tried to do as he was asked; especially hearing the panic in Dean's voice but sleep's fast current was pulling him under and Sam had nothing left to fight it.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean kept a firm grip on his brother's hand whilst Bobby upped the wards and protection symbols round the room, not that it would do much good. If Ruby wanted in apparently they couldn't stop her, and any efforts to keep an angel at bay would be laughed at all the way to the church.

Sam came round a few hours ago but he'd quickly lost consciousness again and there'd been no sign of him since. The doc was amazed and bewildered by the kid's progress, shaking his head and claiming that if things continued along in the same way he'd be breathing on his own in a few days.

Sam's eyes had been filled with fear and exhaustion, and it was just a measure of that exhaustion the kid hadn't even protested at the tube wedged in his throat. His little brother just gazed up at him helplessly until he couldn't stay awake any longer.

A small broken moan knocked Dean out of his musings a while later and he perched on the edge of Sam's bed.

"That's it Sam, wake up now." Dean gently rubbed his brother's hands, anxiously trying to get through to him. "You're safe here ok? No crazy poker guys throwing rocks or shootin' at us I promise."

Sam's eyes flew open in panic, whimpering softly, hands scrabbling weakly at Dean's but at least he wasn't choking on the vent. Last thing he needed was a panic attack.

Dean gripped Sam's wrists in a gentle hold just in case he tried pulling it out, though it was doubtful given how weak he was. "Ssshhh. Sam, calm down dude."

Sam's eyes swept frantically round the room, alighting on his brother, pleading silently.

"Yeah I know," Dean muttered and let go, framing Sam's face with his hands instead. "It's ok Sammy, I know you're scared but you're safe here. Bobby and I got it covered."

Carding gentle fingers through Sam's hair and whispering softly seemed to calm him a little. Sam blinked slowly up at him, eyes asking a thousand questions.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Sammy?" Dean watched carefully, trying not to freak him out.

Sam whimpered again and shook his head slightly, eyebrows dipping as tears filled his eyes.

"Someone shot you, back at the bar, and I didn't know Sam. I'm so sorry I just didn't know." Dean sniffed back his own tears. "You were dying, in so much pain, and I yelled at you, was gonna punch you _again_. Had no right...to _hurt_ you like that..." He broke off and closed his eyes in defeat. But a large hand crept into his, squeezing gently until Dean opened his eyes again.

Sam was gazing at him with so much compassion and love it made Dean's heart ache. Another squeeze; Sam's eyelids drooped tiredly, and Dean patted his cheek, smiling through unshed tears.

"S'ok bro. Get some sleep." _God he loved this kid!_ "Maybe when you next wake up you'll be ready to live without this thing huh?" He gently tapped the tube in Sam's mouth, careful not to dislodge it.

Sam gave a slow nod in acknowledgement, mouth twitching into a smile that just looked plain weird round the vent, but Dean didn't mind one bit. His brother had woken up against all odds and right now he didn't give a damn whether or not Ruby was responsible. After all, he'd done crazier things to keep Sam alive up to and including making deals with demons.

Sam's eyes had slid shut, his body relaxing back into sleep. Proper sleep, not the coldness of a near-death coma. Dean breathed out slow and deep, relief countering the adrenaline and dread of the last week; he was nearly dropping from exhaustion and knew he'd also have to sleep soon. And he _would_ but for now he was content to sit there and watch his little brother. They were starting a whole new chapter here, and things had to be said, had to change.

Bobby smiled softly when he turned up again. Dean was seated in his usual spot, with his head resting on his arms, slumped on Sam's bed, one hand firmly clutching his brother's. But the reason for his mirth was the peaceful smile on the older brother's face. Even Sam, in spite of the god awful vent in his throat, looked more relaxed than he had in ages.

He shook his head and slumped in the chair opposite, keeping one eye on the door, the other on his boys. Weary and stumped beyond belief, he had no idea what was going on. Bobby had attempted to track Ruby and his efforts led him to a bar on the other side of town. _The_ bar, as it turned out. There was no sign of the demon but she'd sure left one hell of a mess in her wake; police cruisers, frightened staff and blood stains up the exterior walls. One bar maid was so traumatised she hadn't spoken since the grisly discovery by the trash cans at the rear of the building. Five bodies, multiple stab wounds. Bobby had sneaked a look before the coroner arrived and made rough descriptive notes about each victim.

Two guys in leather biker jackets, one guy dressed in a blood splattered paisley shirt, another with a badly made hair piece, and the final body wasn't all that distinctive apart from the red bandana tied round his thick neck.

"Knew I didn't trust her," he muttered, scratching the back of his own neck worriedly. Dean would have gone after those guys eventually, especially the one who shot his brother, but this? This was murder, brutal and unnecessary. Dean wouldn't have taken it this far unless provoked, wouldn't have risked the exposure. But instead of cleaning it up Ruby had intentionally left those bodies for discovery and Bobby had the nasty feeling there was a message in it somewhere.

Nothing to do now, but sit back and wait for Sam.

Knowing he'd have to head out again soon, he tipped his ball cap over his eyes, feet raised up and resting on Sam's bed, and dozed lightly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Here ya go, eat up." Dean rolled the table back in place and sat down, eyes fixed on Sam's melancholy face. When his brother made no move to pick up his fork, Dean sighed.

"Come on Sammy, please."

Sam stared down at the gloopy concoction. "I'm not a child. You forget, I survived without you for four months Dean." His voice was flat with no humour. "I'll eat when I'm ready."

Dean studied his brother's determined expression, the tensed shoulders and had to agree. _Not a child. Understood loud and clear. _But it still made his blood boil.

"I'm just sayin' if you wanna get out of here, you have to eat..." he tried out, but it didn't work.

"They can't _keep_ me here Dean!" Sam snarled, then suddenly deflated. "I know what you're saying, what you're doing....but please....just stop it, ok? I don't need it anymore."

Dean had known this was coming one day but it still knocked him for six. He gazed sadly at his younger sibling.

"So...uh..." he shook his head, sucking on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling with heartbreak. "Sammy I don't know what you want from me anymore. Don't..know..._I just don't know..."_ the soft sob of despair had Sam's head rising sharply "please, if you want me to leave Sam...just say it for God sake!"

Sam's eyes softened. "No! That's not..._God _Dean I never wanted that! I never wanted you to go to hell for me! _I never wanted any of this!_" He joined his brother in the sob fest, some small part of him knowing they would both hate this later, and maybe – _hopefully_ – laugh about it. "I never wanted any of this...how am I s'posed to deal now huh? _God_ wants me to stop, you told me that. But tell me something Dean...why do I feel like I've already been judged? Like nothing I do makes a difference. I'm saving _innocent lives _and God tells you that's _wrong? _What the_ fuck _Dean?_"_

Dean raised long suffering eyes to his brother. "I don't know Sammy. I'm sorry but I just don't know."

Sam felt his body start to shake with anger. "So you, the long standing atheist has nothing to say. No _questions to ask as usual_?" Tears spilled down his face, and these ones had been waiting for this moment a long time. "I've been praying to God for most of my life...and I get _nothing..."_

"That's enough!" Dean jumped to his feet angrily. "I don't have the answers Sammy, and _never_ _said I fucking did!_" Sam remained silent and Dean lowered his voice. "All I care about is you. You, my little brother and the rest of the world can go _fuck_ 'emselves. OK? _I don't care!_" He turned and paced to the window. "All I know is that God doesn't want you doing this and if I don't stop you..."

"Yeah, I know." Sam countered softly, finally understanding his brother's torment. "_They_ will."

The brothers stayed in a silent stalemate for a long moment. Until Sam spoke up again.

"I'm not gonna stop ya know? Not until they give me a good reason to. And you can't stop me Dean." Hearing his brother swift, agonised intake of breath, Sam carried on trying. "In time of war there are spies on both sides. I know you don't trust Ruby...just hear me out?" He asked when Dean snarled on hearing her name. "I know you don't trust her, and in truth neither do I, but maybe...maybe she's our spy, our double agent. You thought about that? Castiel doesn't know everything."

Dean turned to look at his brother, eyebrows raised in surprised. "Huh. No. Never thought of that. But...it makes a kinda sense." he frowned down at his feet for a second before staring Sam in the eye. "If that's true it raises a few questions. Like who's the other? Who's the agent batting for the other team?"

Sam stared back. "Maybe we haven't met them yet."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Tell me bitch," Bobby faced her down. "Why? Why didya do it? Those guys..."

Ruby looked at him as though he was truly stupid. "Do what exactly?"

Bobby snarled angrily and slammed her into the brickwork. "You murdered those people..."

Ruby lifted him effortlessly and threw him aside. "I didn't murder anybody. That's not what I'm here for!"

Picking himself up and glaring at her, Bobby growled deep in his throat. "Those guys at the bar, the ones who hurt Sam...that was you! I tracked you there! Had your name written all over it!"

She opened her mouth then closed it again, shrugging carelessly. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't." Then she rounded on him, stalking him until Bobby's back once again hit the wall. Ruby's voice was low, desperate, almost pleading. "But you have no idea what rests on this...where this is going...how bad it could get..."

"Don't play word games with me girly! I know what could happen: The end of the _world_!" Bobby exclaimed as though she were now the stupid one.

"No, worse than that." Ruby whispered and smiled at him, almost in sympathy. "The end of _existence._" She smoothed down Bobby's lapels and gave them a small soft tug. "Just..." a small worried huff "don't trust everyone that calls themselves an angel."

Bobby blinked. And she was gone.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

**Abrupt I know.**

**I've only seen Metamorphosis the once and hated those punches; felt so sorry for both boys, but in particularly Sam's heartache in this one and that's primarily what I intended to address here. It didn't turn out to be quite what I'd hoped for, but its ****4am and I'm plain knackered out for trying. Probably should have waited to get a better handle on the new season but I thought nah! Sod it! So this is written very much off the cuff and as an offering to fellow pissed off Sammy fans. I know it's not perfect and there are plenty of faults, one of which is an inability to make up my mind about Ruby. So please excuse…**_**and just enjoy.**_

**Over here in the land that time forgot we've only just had our first showing of Monster Movie and even my husband – who isn't a fan of the show - laughed his arse off. Great stuff.**

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	12. Shocking

**I Didn't Mean It**

_**Times Dean unintentionally hurt his brother.**_

**Story 12**

**Shocking**

_Misunderstandings, an argument and some left over Christmas decorations put Sam in a dangerous situation._

_Dean 19, Sam 15._

_Set middle to late January._

_**Author's notes**__: due to certain unsavoury individuals I've been forced to shut down anonymous reviewing on my profile, and certain reviews have been deleted altogether. I apologise to those anonymous reviewers who've been really sweet and supportive in the past but I was left with no choice._

_So for those who know who you are, here goes:_

_If I want to express my feelings for the show in a somewhat aggressive manner then I will. Can't take a joke? Then you shouldn't have 'joined' as far as I'm concerned. _

_It's your choice to read, and therefore your choice to take offence, even though none was intended._

_(See rant and intense finger-pointing at the end for more information)._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was fuming.

The pathetic Christmas tree hadn't been taken down, or _any_ of the decorations; they'd just been left to gather dust and cobwebs.

"Sam?" He yelled out before taking the stairs two at a time, muttering obscenities with each angry step. "Sam!"

"What?" Sam's weary voice floated out from the bedroom, closely followed by the kid himself. He yawned and stretched, almost glad of his brother's distraction; his latest science project was giving him a headache and he needed something to eat. Arms dropping, he peered up at Dean. "You ok dude? Your eyes…"

Dean's _eyes_ were pinched in anger. "Why are the Christmas decorations still up? You _said _you were gonna take care of it!" He took a menacing step closer and lowered his voice. "Remember what I said Sammy. I'll tell Dad, I swear it."

Sam paled and nodded quickly. "I'm sorry Dean, I just got carried away with my homework and lost track of time." He glanced at his watch hurriedly. "Just let me finish up the last paragraph and I'll get started."

Dean glared at him for a moment longer. "You got 'til dinner then I'm waking him up." He stalked off muttering again. "That's the last time I take the blame for you…"

Sam watched him go and sighed. It was his own fault and there were no excuses, though it certainly hadn't been deliberate. He'd screwed up on a hunt, nearly getting them all killed. And how?

By misreading the damn compass and nearly sending them into a deep ravine.

Sam was responsible for navigation as well as most of the research these days and had gotten so good at it that his family rarely ever checked his calculations. But a combination of freezing cold weather, some poor judgment and a particularly smart wendigo might have seriously screwed things up if not for Dean standing between his angry father and extremely ashamed little brother, effectively taking the blame. He'd claimed it was _his_ fault, and Sam had made the original correct assumptions but Dean had contradicted him.

He'd seen his kid brother's face lose all colour at the realisation of what could have gone wrong and decided to step in before their father hit the roof. Sam and John had been arguing a lot recently, nearly coming to blows. Some of the insults had been cheap and below the belt on both sides but Sam physically flinched when John looked him in the eye and uttered

_I don't know why we bother taking you along. Might as well leave you behind. All you do is whine and question, and I'm sick of it! Sick of you!_

At the time Dean had managed to head the approaching trouble off at the pass, but knew all too well what was likely round the next bend.

So after the disastrous hunt, Sam had stood there completely speechless and more than a little touched by his older brother's protectiveness, then he was pulling on Dean's arm, begging him to tell the truth.

"You can't do that Dean, for God sake I can handle him ok? I'm not a child!"

Dean had cast him a sad glance. "That's not the issue Sam, I can't take any more fights ok? And if this is the only way to keep the peace…" he'd shrugged, turned back and trudged off after their father leaving Sam with silent tears rolling down his face.

Sam kind of understood; Dean was often caught in the middle and pulled each way by both members of his family. And he was finally cracking under the strain.

But it left Sam in a tricky situation. He wanted to fess up, admit it was _his_ fault not Dean's. He hated that John was now giving Dean the cold shoulder, refused to acknowledge him with the exception of the odd grunt here and there at meal times. And it _just wasn't fair._

Dean was at least getting what he wanted; he wouldn't stand up to John and therefore no arguments ensued, but Sam was seething with guilt and anger.

He didn't want to be the one to break Dean's badly needed peace, so instead he helped his brother out whenever he could. Whether it was waxing the car or cleaning the guns, Sam didn't care. In truth Dean still blamed Sam for the whole compass fiasco, and made sure he knew it by dropping the odd snide comments and virtually ignoring him at all other times. Given that he'd fallen out of favour with John for no good reason, and was now subject to their Dad's disappointment, Sam couldn't blame him for that either.

So Dean got his peace but it was unstable, with the Winchesters barely talking to each other and Sam knew it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.

John returned home a little drunk during the afternoon, swore a blue streak at the scrappy little Christmas tree with its tiny ancient fairy lights, and swept it to the floor, demanding the _'whole damn Jesus fest' _be torn down and dumped in the nearest trash can, then staggered off to his bedroom.

Dean, righting the tree and feeling more than a little ticked off, had handed the problem over to Sam the minute he walked through the door after school.

"I put 'em up for ya, least you could do is take 'em down." He smirked at the look on Sam's face.

Sam's eyes widened. "But Dean I got like a ton of homework to do, can't this wait?"

"You got plenty of time dude." Dean grinned nastily. "But make sure it's down before he wakes up or he'll kick your ass and I aint coverin' for ya this time."

But Sam decided to at least make a start on his homework whilst it was still fresh in his mind; he'd deal with the tree later. He hadn't meant to get so carried away with it and now Dean was angry with him and threatening to give the game away, something that would surely make John even more furious than the original misdemeanour. If their father knew Sam was letting Dean take the blame for his mistakes…well, there surely would be hell to pay. Winchesters weren't cowards, but that was exactly how John would see his youngest if he ever found out.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean felt a small twinge of guilt as he set about preparing dinner. Sam was scared shitless he'd tell John what really happened, but in reality there was no way Dean could do that to him. Sure he was angry at his kid brother for what happened on the hunt, but to run to Daddy spilling his guts purely for the purpose of getting Sam in trouble?

Nah. Not Dean's style. Losing Sam's trust like that wouldn't be worth the trouble in any case. He might as well shoot himself in the foot. And besides, Sam's screw up was an honest mistake when he got right down to it, whereas deliberately getting him in trouble now would be spineless and about as two faced as you could get.

So Dean was gradually calming down, acknowledging that Sam wasn't totally at fault and so long as the brothers were ok, he'd take a shit load of disappointment from Dad.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam balanced precarious with one foot on a rickety old chair, the other on tiptoe teetering dangerously on the edge of the mantelpiece. One long arm reached out, holding himself steady against the chimney stack, whilst the other tugged at the streamers, pulling them off the ceiling and dropping them on the floor. Taking a tentative breath and swallowing nervously he stretched out again, aiming for another piece dangling just out of reach.

Dean would've been able to do this just by standing on the chair but Sam, who was still anxiously waiting – _praying_ – for another growth spurt, just wasn't tall enough.

He stilled, heart in mouth, when the chair creaked ominously beneath him. Sam was only a few feet from the floor but up here it felt like a thousand, especially as directly below was an iron grate with some particularly vicious looking ornate spikes decorating the rim.

The chair creaked again and this time it wobbled. Sam froze, breath coming in short, sharp pants. He knew he was being irrational and panicking wasn't going to help, but just couldn't bring himself to move.

"Dean?" Sam called out; almost more afraid of being caught in such a stupid predicament as he was of falling and impaling himself on those spikes. Spikes, which incidentally were appearing longer and sharper each time Sam looked at them.

_Maybe I should __**not**__ look at them!_

_Ok, stay focussed and try to move your foot…the __**other**__ foot dumbass!_

Yep, he'd frozen solid. Like a polar ice cap. _What in hell's wrong with me?_

Nothing for it. " Dean!"

Dean appeared in the doorway, an annoyed frown marring his face. "What?"

Frightened eyes turned his way. "Uh…could you get me down please? I'm a little stuck."

"Oh for Christ sake…"

Sam relaxed a little with embarrassed relief when Dean rolled his eyes and headed on over. Placing a steadying hand on Sam's waist he caught the foot on the mantel piece and swung it down just as the chair gave way with a loud crack.

Dean caught him before the worst could happen and blew out a harsh breath. Looking down at the iron spikes on the fire grate, his blood ran cold.

_That was way too close._ He gently set the kid back on his feet and took a long hard look at him.

"Might wanna try using a step ladder next time. There's one in the cupboard under the stairs." Then turned and started yanking down the rest of the decorations. "Make a start on those fairy lights. Might as well ditch 'em. We won't be using those again."

Sam bit his lip, not sure if his brother considered this a truce and they were back on speaking terms, but figured it couldn't hurt to try.

"How so?" he asked in a small voice. Sam loved those lights; Dean got them especially for _him._

Dean started gathering up armfuls of homemade streamers. "Found 'em in a dumpster in back of the local shopping mall. They needed a little fixing up but…" there was that casual shrug again, like it didn't matter and Sam smiled softly. It meant the world to him when he came home from school before Christmas break to find the living room lit up by twinkling fairy lights and streamers criss-crossing the ceiling. There was nothing his big brother couldn't fix when he put his mind to it.

Sam suddenly felt overwhelmed with shame, the weight of it dropping his chin slightly.

"M'sorry Dean," he said in a small voice. "I shoulda jumped in there _before _when you took the blame…"

"Stop it Sam," Dean replied, his tone suggesting he was more tired than angry, and turned his back, but he missed the way Sam's shoulders slumped a little more in defeat. "Get going with those lights and I'll take the rest outside."

Sam nodded sadly. He was loathed to turn off the lights, loving the way they lit up the scrawny little tree, making it look more special that it had any right to be. Though if Sam could pack it up, and bury it forever safe in his duffle bag he would in a heartbeat. But instead he'd have to be content with burying it safely within his memories.

Sighing with remorse Sam began wrestling with the tree, dragging it away from the wall a little so he could reach the socket. But with the bucket of earth keeping its roots intact it was heavy and he only managed a few inches, huffing and puffing all the way, then finding that he'd have to reach round to unplug the lights. From that position he couldn't make out the exposed wires where the insulator had become damaged and worn at some stage, had no idea what would happen when both his hands wrapped around them.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The first warning that told Dean something was very wrong were the flickering lamps when he came back inside the house.

"Aw, just perfect!" He muttered, making his way back. It was a weird place to keep it but the fuse box and circuit breakers were hidden in a cupboard in the living room. On the wall opposite the fireplace in fact. "Either we've got a fucking ghost of our own or…"

He broke off with a stunned gasp.

Sam was convulsing violently on the floor, teeth clenched to breaking point, face scrunched up in pain. Sickening choked breaths filled the room, the tree was once again tipped over and Dean could smell scorched flesh.

"Sam!"

Sam's hands seemed glued to the wiring at the back of the tree, unable to let go as the electric current surged through him unmercifully. Sharp broken mewling issued from his mouth with every jolt, breaking Dean's heart each time.

Dean ignored every instinct that told him to go to his brother and wrenched open the fuse cupboard, eyes desperately scanning for the correct switch. He knew the kitchen was on the same circuit as the living room, but none of them were labelled. But there should have been a...

_There was no mains emergency switch!_

_Fuck!_

_Why didn't the damn circuit breakers kick in? Why didn't the fuse blow? What's the point of safety devices that don't __**fucking work**__?!_

He knew why. It was an old building, little more than a slum, with faulty old wiring that should have been upgraded years ago. But rewiring was an expensive business so the landlord had likely skimped on costs by installing cheap breakers that either didn't work because of incompatibility with the old circuits, or just plain hadn't been fitted properly to start with.

Suspecting it was probably a combination of both, Dean wasted no more time and began ripping out _all_ the fuses. The entire building was plunged into darkness and Sam became suddenly and frighteningly still.

Grabbing up the emergency flashlight from inside the cupboard and praying it would work, Dean flicked on the switch calling out his kid brother's name.

"Sam? You ok?" _Stupid fucking question! The kid just received enough wattage to light up the entire state of __Texas. Of __**Course**__ he aint ok!_

The flashlight picked out Sam's form lying helplessly on the floor, legs tangled in the tree branches. Dean nearly cried out when the light caught Sam's eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, just as his father came stumbling into the room, bleary eyed from sleep.

"What the _hell's _goin' on round here_?_" He bellowed loudly, oblivious to Sam's plight and Dean's distress. "Why aint the lights on?"

The only response Dean could give was to drop to his knees beside his brother. Pressing two fingers against Sam's neck yielded nothing. Heart rending, trembling in desperation, Dean was tugging Sam free, tilting back his head, pinching off his nostrils, beginning mouth to mouth…all the while ignoring his father's endless questions. It wasn't until John started chest compressions that Dean realised his father soon understood what happened.

Calling out the timings, the number of breaths, of compressions…it all became a desperate mantra to save Sam's life.

But the kid showed no sign of coming back, the only movement made by his body came when John thumped his chest, linked, fisted hands attacking Sam in earnest and Dean felt his heart sinking as precious seconds ticked by.

Seconds that were counting down and Sam was slipping further away.

His eyes kept up that cold dead stare, blue-green irises glinting in the dull glow of the flashlight.

But still John and Dean didn't, _couldn't _give up on him.

"Come on Sammy," Dean panted out between each rescue breath, "you can do it…don't leave me…"

John was exhausted, could hear Dean's breathless pleas, begging his little brother to come back; he couldn't bear to lose his youngest, not like this, not after the way things had been between them.

His little family unit was falling apart at the seams and if they lost Sam now…

"_Please _Sammy…" John joined in with his oldest son.

They stopped keeping an eye on the time; Sam was the only thing of importance to them, and they certainly refused to notice how his skin was turning grey, lips deep blue, warmth seeping from his body.

"Sam please…" Dean was openly sobbing by now, unable to hold it in, and didn't quite hear his father's shout the first time.

"Dean!" John shook his arm. "He's got a pulse, confirm!"

Dean's shaky hand nearly didn't find it but he soon nodded. "Confirm." The thready beat beneath his fingers had never felt so damn good, but Sam still wasn't breathing.

"Keep going Dean," John leapt to his feet. "I'm gonna call 911."

Dean nodded again, and carried on sealing Sam's mouth with his own. He knew he couldn't keep his brother alive like this forever but maybe just long enough for help to arrive.

They had one more scare just as the ambulance turned up, the shouts and heavy footfalls of the EMTs racing through the house with a gurney as Sam's family put up another frantic search for his heartbeat.

"Out of the way _now_!"

Dean found himself unceremoniously dragged off and dumped in the middle of the living room floor, his father backing away after him.

The EMTs didn't spare the two frightened men a glance, just got straight on with saving their patient, though the larger one with the moustache belted out rapid fire questions as he worked. The other guy with mousey brown hair set up IVs and switched on the cardiac monitor, the high pitched whine offering no reassurance whatsoever.

"What's the kid's name?"

"How long?"

"Has he regained consciousness?"

"Does he have any pre-existing medical conditions?"

John didn't hesitate to answer whilst Dean just watched, silently anxious, his chest cramping up tight.

"Can you hear me Sam? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me kid."

"Unresponsive. Continue CPR."

Moustache handled the ambu bag, forcing air into Sam's lungs via a transparent mask, while Mouse continued massaging the kid's heart in between breaths.

The whine from the cardiac monitor suddenly changed to an unsteady _beep beep beep_ and Dean could swear his own heart was about to arrest. He and John stood by wordlessly as Sam's eyelids fluttered helplessly and the EMTs spoke to the youngster, softly reassuring him as they worked on preparing him for transfer to the gurney.

Dean wasn't sure if Sam was awake exactly but it seemed as though the kid was making a supreme effort to breathe on his own.

Heavy bandages were wrapped round both his hands and Dean blinked in surprise. In all the panic and worry, trying to get to his brother to breathe, just get him to _live_, it hadn't occurred to him to wonder about the burns on the kid's hands.

Later on it scared them both even more that the statistics of coming back from something like this weren't all that good, not nearly as encouraging as the media suggested.

As the paramedics slotted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, Moustache hooked Sam up to a high pressure oxygen supply and by this time he was blinking heavily at his surroundings, obviously scared and confused.

"_Dean…"_

He only just about heard it but when he did, Dean barged his way up and into the ambulance, grabbing his little brother's bandaged hand up in a firm, gentle hold.

"I'm right here Sammy," Dean whispered, vocal cords tight with fear. "Right here… Just hold on kiddo."

"_Wha…?_" Sam's mask was fogging up a little more convincingly now, but Dean was still terrified of a relapse.

"Ssshhh don't talk. Just keep your eyes on me and you'll be fine." His smile was shakier than a drunk on detox but it was genuine. "Dad's gonna follow on in the car…look Sam! He's right there, making sure you're ok!"

Weary eyes followed Dean's outstretched hand to find their father's form hovering at the door to the ambulance. John shot him a shaky smile of his own and Sam responded with a weak wave from his free hand.

"_Da…_" he whispered tiredly, eyes half closed. "_Where…wegoin'…_"

"S'alright Sammy," John briefly rested a hand on Sam's blanket covered foot and squeezed gently. "These guys are gonna take you to the ER, get you checked out."

Sam shook his head weakly. "_No…donwanna…_" he slurred out, growing sleepier with each exchange.

"Sorry kiddo but we aint riskin' it." Dean stroked Sam's hair and gazed into his tired eyes. "You scared the hell outa of us and you aint leaving there 'til we know for certain you're gonna be ok."

Moustache raised an eyebrow at Mouse who shrugged in reply. It seemed they had an extra passenger for the journey and neither of them wanted to waste time throwing him out.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed long and loud. He'd desperately needed to get out and his lingering hangover was screwing with his head. Sat in the Impala, he thought about all the ways in which he'd fucked up.

Sam was going to be ok but they were keeping him in under observation. His ECG had given the doc cause for concern, the after effects of the electric shock presumably, but it had John scared to hell. He'd been going downhill scaryfast these last few weeks, the incident with the wendigo not withstanding. Twice now he'd thought the monster that killed his wife was close, that he was on the right track but each time drawn a blank. It was driving him insane and now his kids were suffering.

He knew he shouldn't but reached over to the glove box anyhow, looking for a hit, something to take the edge off, but when his hand closed over a familiar piece of metal and plastic, his heart nearly broke.

Turning the compass over in his hand, regret rolled over him like a tidal wave. No way should he ever have blamed either of his sons for what happened, because no way should he ever have placed them in such dangerous circumstances to start with. But this was their life now, and nothing could change that.

John turned the compass again, and frowned. Glancing ahead through the windshield he got out of the car and stood facing the hospital entrance. He knew for sure he was facing due north, yet the compass was pointing South East. John turned one eighty and the compass did the same thing, the needle swinging round and pointing in the wrong direction.

He stared at it, then lifted his gaze and turned back. Remorse, guilt, anger...all burst open inside, his stomach filling with acid, and he ran for the hospital entrance.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

A broken whimper brought Dean out of his self-induced trance.

He'd honestly forgotten where he was and blinked in surprise at his surroundings. The air smelled heavily of disinfectant and a dim light shone over the bed next to him, illuminating a pair of tired blue-green eyes blinking in confusion.

"Sam?" Dean leaned forward and studied Sam's face anxiously. The kid was pale beneath the mask, mouth trembling, breathing just a little fast. "You ok?"

Sam stared up at him fearfully. "Wh-where am I? What's goin' on?" He tried to sit up and was rewarded with a sharp bolt of pain through his body. Sam fell back gasping. "S-sorry...din finish...lights..." Speech was becoming difficult as the pain refused to let up.

"No but the lights nearly finished you." Dean perched on the edge of the bed and smoothed a hand through his little brother's hair when tears began a slow roll down the boy's face. "Ssshhh don't try to talk Sam. And forget about the lights ok? I've dealt with them already." _Gonna dump them in the nearest garbage bin and we're never having Christmas lights again! _

If he'd known just how much they'd meant to his kid brother he might have revised that thought. "Just take it easy little bro. You were electrocuted by those damn things." He tried out a smile, to offer some sort of comfort but the kid wasn't responding. _Something's wrong_. "Sam? You ok kid?"

Sam wheezed and clutched a bandaged hand to his chest, clearly in pain. "_D...Dean...hurts..."_

Dean frantically stabbed at the call button just as John appeared in the doorway, his thoughtful frown turning to anxiety when he saw the pain on Sam's face. Marching straight over, he gave the call button one more press for good measure, then gently grasped Sam's shoulders.

"Sammy? C'mon baby boy tell me what's wrong!" John persisted though he felt sure no answer was coming. "Where does it hurt?"

Sam's mouth gaped open, eyes scrunched up in pain and he lifted a hand, scrabbling at the mask over his face, desperate to get it off. Dean immediately trapped his hands, pinning them both to the bed.

"Keep it on Sam, you need it ok? You need to breathe!"

John's heart broke at the pitiful moans and weak muffled gasps as Sam struggled and writhed. "Where the hell's his doctor?"

Dean jumped up, moved to the door and poked his head out into the hallway. "Hey!" He bellowed loudly, and John might have taken the time to wince if not for the rapid staccato from Sam's heart monitor.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy what's wrong?" John asked again, glaring at Dean and he _knew_ he had no right to be angry, not after discovering the compass, but his mouth and brain just ran away together. "_What_ did you say to him?"

"Nothing…"

"You must've said _something_ to get him so upset…"

Dean surprised himself and rounded on his father, hissing in anger. "You weren't even in the _room_ Dad. Where were ya huh? Going head to head with your secret stash of _Jack_?"

John's eyes twitched and he fought against a flinch. That one hit a little too close to home. "Watch your tone with me boy!" he warned, hands curling into fists just as the cardiac monitor picked up speed again and Sam's gasping grew desperate, his frightened eyes swivelling frantically between his father and brother.

Scared, confused and consumed by guilt, Sam couldn't understand what all the shouting was about but he felt pretty certain it had to be his fault _again_, the reason Dean hated him, right? All the arguing, the fighting…it was all down to Sam.

Eyes streaming with tears, Sam tried to call out but he couldn't breathe, cold panic freezing his lungs, denying him oxygen. His vision began to blur, like a bathroom mirror steaming up, and darkness crept up on him, taking him away from his family.

Who didn't notice a thing in the heat of verbal battle until Sam's eyes rolled wildly for just a few seconds then he was out cold, slumped against his pillows, leaving two frantic Winchesters wondering what the hell happened.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John and Dean found themselves in a frustratingly familiar situation; pacing the hall outside Sam's room. The kid's doctor had effectively, and with little ceremony, thrown them out, shutting the door in their faces.

John couldn't really bring himself to be angry; on arrival at the hospital earlier that night, he and Dean had been at each other's throats the minute Sam's gurney disappeared behind a set of swing doors flanked by the physician and his crew.

The blame game begun with John yelling at Dean for not checking the wiring properly, Dean yelling right back _maybe_ if John hadn't gotten so damn drunk and angry in the first place _none_ of this would have happened. The noise brought all kinds of nurses, orderlies and security officers out of the woodwork, along with the threat of being bodily removed from the building. The Winchesters hadn't laughed, mainly because there were at least six of them; all built like brick shit houses.

And that was just the nurses. They would have made a herd of wounded grizzly bears look feminine.

Dean threw away the empty Styrofoam container without bothering with the last dregs of so-called coffee. His Dad leant against the wall, arms folded, head down and the tense silence continued until Dean slumped in a hard plastic chair and huffed loudly.

John lifted his head and watched his oldest son trying to keep calm.

"You were right," he offered the truce quietly. "If I'd been sober, thinking things through properly, if I hadn't…" John swallowed hard then pinched the bridge of his nose "I'm sorry for a lot of things, been hard on you both lately. But this aint your fault Dean so don't go blaming yourself."

Dean raised wet, bloodshot eyes to his father. "Dad…" he began brokenly.

"No son, listen to me," John pushed away from the wall and went into a crouch in front of Dean. "These things just happen. And whilst we're on the subject," a shaky hand landed on the boy's shoulder, squeezing gently "That hunt, a few weeks ago? Wasn't your fault either. That compass," John shook his head ruefully "had it since the marines, never thought it'd go wrong, but it did."

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"The compass was faulty Dean, just found out" smiling sadly John squeezed his shoulder again. "I inspect and clean _every singl_e piece of weaponry, _every single night_, even the ones you and your brother already checked. But I never once bothered to test that damn compass was working properly."

John wondered why Dean was staring at him with such a stricken look on his face. "Gave you a damn hard time for something you couldn't have known about, and I'm sorry son."

"Oh God!" Dean leaned over in his seat, burying his face in his hands. "OhGodohGodohGod!"

"Son? What's wrong?" Rubbing the kid's back, John frowned worriedly. "Dean?"

"Dad…" Dean sniffed back his tears but never got a chance to explain because the door to Sam's room swung open.

The doctor stood, face expressionless in the doorway, eyeing the older Winchesters carefully. Whatever he was looking for he obviously found it and nodded approvingly.

"You can come back in now, Sam's settled down nicely for the night."

Two big smiles seemed to light up the hall and the doctor basked in the glow, feeling some kind of peace at last.

"What happened to him? Is Sam ok?" Dean clambered to his feet, anxious to see his brother.

The doc smiled his first genuine smile since this crazy family had shown up in the ER. "He had a nasty panic attack, but he's fine now. I've given him a sedative to help him sleep." He folded his arms and stared hard at the two men, but kept his voice soft. "Sam's very fragile right now so whatever problems you guys have? I strongly suggest you work them out before he wakes up."

John and Dean glanced at each other sheepishly.

"Can we still sit with him tonight?" Dean sounded so despondent the doc didn't have the heart to deny him.

"Provided you two continue to behave yourselves and keep your voices down," he added "for Sam's sake if anything."

"Uh, sure doc." John nodded his agreement "we will. Just give us a minute wouldya?"

"Of course, I have to be getting along now anyhow." The doc wished them good night and strode away down the hall. John stared at his back for a long moment.

"Get the feeling that guy doesn't like us very much?"

Dean shrugged tiredly. "Can ya blame 'im?"

"Guess not," John stuffed both hands into his jean pockets. "Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "That business with the compass…I took the fall for Sam."

His father waited it out but he was clearly stunned.

"You two had been fighting so much…I couldn't take it anymore Dad," Dean raised his head, eyes filling with fresh tears. "I figured if I took the blame, no one would lose their temper. Sure, I knew you'd be pissed at me, but I can live with uncomfortable silences a darn sight better than the shouting."

John couldn't help the stir of anger and Dean heard it in his voice. "And Sam just went along with it?" he growled. "God_damn_ that kid! I raised you both better than that…to take responsibility for your own mistakes!"

"It wasn't like that," the tears finally spilled over and rolled down Dean's face. "I…I blackmailed him, in every sense of the word. First it was emotional blackmail, told him what I just told you, made him feel like shit. He wanted to own up, was desperate to. Hated me taking the heat for his screw up, but when I told him why he…he went along with it. _For my sake_." Dean sniffed loudly before getting to the real dirty part. "Later on I used it against him whenever he didn't do what I wanted. It had gone on way too long by that point, and we both knew how you'd react if you found out; Sam was afraid you'd be even angrier but what he dreaded worst of all was you thinking he was a coward for letting me protect him. So it went on from there…and that's…that's why Sam nearly died from an electric shock 'cos I made him take down the Christmas lights and didn't warn him. I knew they were dangerous…I just wasn't thinking." Another loud sniff. "In fact before that he nearly impaled himself on the fucking _fire_ grate."

It was the longest speech he'd ever made but it most certainly wasn't one Dean was proud of. "I gave Sammy such a hard time over that hunt Dad, and now you tell me it wasn't even _his fault_?"

"And I gave you a hard time in turn." John sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Well…if _we_ aint the biggest bunch of fuck ups huh?"

Dean snorted without humour then mimicked his father without realising it, shoving a hand over his own hair. "Got _that_ right," he whispered after a pause "wasn't anyone's fault."

John rolled his head against the wall to look at him. "Wrong. That compass was _my_ responsibility." He thought about that for a second. "All of it, everything…it was down to me. I chose the cheapest, most run down place to stay. As for those lights, son I shoulda been the one to give both you boys a decent Christmas. Instead I let you risk your life fixing up those damn things…_Jesus! _I didn't even bother to stick around on Christmas day for you guys." John hung his head in defeat. "I've been such an asshole."

A small fond smile worked its way on to Dean's face. "Makes two of us huh?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam woke up again it was to a multitude of aches and pains, all jostling and fighting for first place. The top prize went to his hands, both encased in thick bandages, itching and stinging at the same time. Second prize went to his chest; it felt tight, sore and any slight movement caused an uncomfortable throbbing sensation right the way through to his stomach. Unfortunately, not breathing wasn't an option so he was force to live with it.

_Ha fucking ha. I'm a wreck and my family hates me. I'm just an all rounder in the funny stakes._

He had yet to open his eyes the entire way, feeling too groggy for the effort and in any case preferring to gaze at the world through long eyelashes until he got his bearings. Those bearings came in the form of a pair of vivid, worried green eyes and Sam tried not to shy away.

"Morning sleepy head." Dean called softly, then carded a hand through his little brother's hair. "How ya feelin'?"

"Whhhhaaaa….ca…..nuhnnnnn," Sam frowned and wriggled his nose under the mask. His mouth wasn't obeying the commands sent by his brain, nothing he said made sense. Something was very wrong and he was beginning to panic again, breathing picking up speed, heart racing.

Dean had started grinning, amused by his stoned brother at first, but the fear was creeping back when he realised what was happening. "Hey stop that! Calm down kiddo, just relax and take it easy. Breathe nice and slow for me ok?" As he whispered, he carried on stroking his brother's soft hair, gradually soothing him. "It's just a sedative Sammy, you had a panic attack last night and the doc was worried you'd hurt yourself. It'll wear off soon enough, just rest up for now."

Sam gazed up at him sadly and Dean sighed. "We'll talk when you're feeling better ok? You've been through a lot Sam now go back to sleep."

Sam didn't need to be asked twice.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_Sam could hear pounding feet behind him, his brother's voice urging him onwards. Somewhere ahead their father lay in wait, flare gun at the ready. Things turned nasty when the wendigo put in an early appearance, before they even had the trap properly set with Sam as bait. Dean was Sam's cover in case anything went wrong except right now __**nothing**__ was going __**right**__. The two boys raced through the trees, harsh breaths sending up clouds of vapour, and the ground just...fell away. Sam teetered on the edge of a deep ravine, losing his balance. _

_This is wrong…wrong direction…shit! Where's Dad?_

_He felt a tugging on the back of his shirt, someone pulling him back…__Dean__…a loud roar from behind and the wendigo was on them__, __pushing the brothers back to the edge, feet scuffling in the dirt…._

_Sam fought hard, hands scrabbling at crumbling dirt, grabbing onto tree roots that just wouldn't hold his weight. Somewhere above him Dean cried out in terror, followed by a thud and whooshing noise._

_Dean plummeted passed him, downwards, like Alice down the rabbit hole, but Sam could clearly see the terror on his brother's face as his descent sped up._

_Sam started screaming…_

_Deeeaaannnnn!!!!!!!_

Dean slammed down the TV remote the moment Sam shot up in bed, wheezing and trying to scream through the oxygen mask all at the same time. Sobbing, crying, desperate to breathe, the poor kid looked terrified and couldn't seemed to wake up.

Dean sat on the bed and wrapped Sam up in his arms, rubbing his back, trying to rouse him but the boy just sobbed brokenly.

"C'mon Sammy just breathe. You gotta stop doing this to yaself kid." Dean knew what the nightmares were about; it was easy enough to guess. They been the cause of Sam's insomnia for weeks, but Dean just hadn't bothered to pay attention....'til now.

"He ok?" His father's sad voice came from the door. John had been out talking to Sam's doctor and came away with the same advice as before: _Take it slow. Don't overwhelm him. His body's still in shock. Just let him know you're there._

In his own subconscious, Sam was drowning in guilt and John prayed they could get through to him before it was too late.

"Dad? I think he's waking up." Dean smiled as Sam started awake, eyes darting round the room in panic, and held on tighter as Sam's body trembled. "Calm down little bro. Just a bad dream. You're safe here, we're _all_ safe."

"Dean?" Sam whispered and squinted up at him.

"Yeah, and guess who else is here." Dean shifted and a smiling John came into view; Sam stiffened a little in his brother's embrace. "S'ok he's not angry with you."

But he still looked wary, "Y-you were both sh-shouting…angry."

And that clued Dean into the cause of last night's panic attack. "Aw Sammy, we weren't mad at you. You'd been electrocuted, nearly died on us several times last night."

John nodded and blinked back tears. "We just panicked, were so damn scared of losing you that's all. And Sam? I know the truth ok? Dean told me everything."

Sam sagged miserably but said nothing. The look on his face said it all.

_Oh boy! Am I in the shit!_

John wasn't finished. "But there's a few things _you_ need to know."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

By the time they finished the explanations, Sam was almost cross-eyed with fatigue and more than a little amused much to his family's surprise. The last few weeks had been hell, fraught with anger and misunderstandings…and all because a compass lost its sense of direction.

Oh yeah, that was brilliant.

In fact, he started laughing.

"Oh my God!" Sam wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, leaving traces of salt water on his bandages. "Only our family huh? Only our family could let something so simple get so out of hand."

Dean shared a worried glance with their Dad. _I almost got him killed. Why the hell's he laughing? _"Uh…Sam, maybe you should get some sleep. Ya looking tired again."

But Sam's grin was genuine. "I'm fine and yeah I'll get some more sleep in a little while, but dude! Come on! Just think about it. The whole thing's ridiculous!"

But Sam was relieved, truth be told. Ok, so he'd nearly died - _we're the Winchesters; what's new about that? _- but on other the other hand…yeah, he noticed the slight grin on his father's face and twinkle in Dean's eye. They were finally catching a glimpse of the brighter side in all this.

But Sam still saw the fear and sadness on his brother's face. "Dean…"

Dean shook his head. "M'sorry, 'bout those damn lights. Someone threw them away for a good reason and I thought I knew better."

Sam's laughter completely melted away and he dipped his head, staring down at his bandages. "I loved them. Don't care that they came out of a dumpster; you fixed 'em for me and they worked. And…uh…" he trailed off and shrugged a little self-consciously before adding quietly "That made Christmas all the more special. Thanks."

Dean stared at him. "You're thanking me for _electrocuting you_? Dude, you are so damaged."

John chuckled, reminding his kids he was still in the room. "Shocking stuff huh?"

The silence that followed was broken by Sam sighing loudly. "I can't believe you just said that Dad."

"What's with all the static Sammy?" Dean grinned suddenly, seeing the potential in all of this. "It's enough to make your hair stand on end."

Sam glowered at him but was saved from further pun-abuse by a knock at the door and one of the grizzly bears stomped in carrying a tray of food.

"Lunch," was all she said, startling Sam a little as she dumped it down on the roll away table and stomped back out of the room.

Sam appeared to stare worriedly at the metal dome lid hiding whatever culinary delights had been cooked up for him. "What was that exactly?"

"That was a nurse Sam."

Sam's eyes darted from the doorway to his injured hands, taking in the thick bandages, and realised to his panic just how utterly helpless he really was. "Oh God! I sure hope she's not the one giving me a bed bath later."

Dean and John roared with laughter but Sam wasn't nearly so amused.

"Seriously guys! I'll have trouble _walking_ once she's finished with me!"

"Don't worry, we'll stick around to protect your virtue dude," Dean tried to control his humour as he reached over and removed the lid on Sam's lunch. "Come on Sammy, eat up now."

In spite of it all, some kind soul _had_ taken the time to cut Sam's food into bite-sized chunks and it actually smelled rather good. The aroma of grilled lamb in mint gravy and mash potato wafted around the room and three stomachs grumbled loudly. Awkwardly, Sam picked up his fork, curling his hand round it in a loose fist and began to stab gently at the pieces of lamb, but the fork clattered to the tray as he hissed in pain and he shook his head in defeat.

Head ducked, Sam bit his lip and fought back sudden tears. "M'sorry." He muttered softly.

"Sammy," John sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Sam's arms gently. "Hey kiddo, it'll get better. Doc says the burns are superficial and they'll heal soon enough." To his dismay, huge tears dripped silently down his youngest boy's face. "I thought we talked it all out. Nothing to be sorry for here."

"Dad…" Dean stared at him pointedly and John immediately understood.

"Here," John picked up the fork and held it to Sam's mouth, but the kid cringed in shame. "Sammy, don't be afraid to accept help, especially not from your family."

"He's right little bro; there's no shame in this ok?" Dean thought about that for a second. "Not that I won't use the comedic material at some point, but I figure you deserve say...sixth month's grace?" He raised an eyebrow.

Sam actually smiled at that. "You won't last three _weeks!_"

Dean was relieved when his little brother shyly allowed John to feed him, but the sudden turn about in mood, from laughter to depression, confirmed what the doc had told them. Sam was still in emotional and physical distress and who wouldn't be after what had happened to him?

It was a huge shock to his system in more ways than one.

But their father was here, _really_ here with them now, not lost in some bottle of gut rot or the next hunt. Though Dean wasn't stupid enough to believe the arguments were finished with; Sam and John were way too much alike for that, with Sam's mile wide independent streak the perfect catalyst.

But if they could just pull together and cut down on the _ridiculous_ mistakes, maybe they'd stand a chance.

Maybe they'd make it far enough.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's end notes:**_

It's now March and we _still_ haven't taken down our decorations! Just too busy! Hehe!

Now on with the rant...

_To a certain anonymous reviewer who's username sounds like Snitch:_

'_Snitch' is certainly very appropriate. Do you make a habit of running to teacher and telling tales on people? Very brave mate! Bet that makes you __**real**__ popular, anonymous as you are. Certainly makes you a grass! See? Not so nice when the shoes on the other foot and you can't defend yourself eh?_

Kind regards,

ST xxx


	13. The not so convenient store

**The Not So Convenient Store.**

**Teenchester. Dean 16, Sam 12.**

**Sam's been getting under foot, and fun though little brother hero-worship is,** **Dean really wants some alone time. Sending the kid out on a wild goose chase seemed like a good idea at the time…**

_**Limp/Hurt/Heartbroken Sam, Guilty/Worried/Angsty/Protective Dean. **_

_**Worried/Angry John.**_

_**Warning: Very mild implied sexual content. But it's perfectly natural for a teenage boy. Even John thinks so, though I'm not sure Sammy's old enough to understand the innuendoes... or is he?**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Sam is real sweet, innocent and gullible in this story, but please try to see it from Dean's angle. He didn't mean any harm. **_

_**Someone gave me a plot bunny similar to this, ages ago.**_

_**So sorry I can't remember who you are, but rest assured, this shows I have been thinking about it!**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sam?"

His little brother bounced on the edge of the bed. He'd obviously been waiting for this moment, and was determined to do the best job ever.

_Again._

"Yuhuh? You want me to clean your weapons again, Dean? I don't mind, honest!"

Dean sighed inwardly.

"No. You cleaned them last night…"

"How 'bout I fix you some toast?"

"Not hungry…"

"I can run you a bath!"

"Sam!"

The kid fell silent, eyes wide, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

_Probably wondering what else he can help me with,_ Dean fumed with frustration,

This had to stop.

A week ago, Dean had saved his little brother's life.

Ok, that was _maybe_ an exaggeration.

He saved him from a dog.

It was only a Chihuahua after all, and Dean figured something that small wasn't much of a threat. One chew and he could've eaten it for breakfast. Besides, it was Sam's fault the damn thing got free in the first place.

How hard did it have to be?

_Sam, guard the kitchen door._

_Yes Dean._

_No one comes in or out._

_No Dean._

But Sam could hardly have been blamed for reacting when he heard his big brother scream in pain, followed by some impressive expletives... which, embarrassingly enough, had actually been a result of Dean banging his elbow on the corner of a shelving unit, rather than being thrown about by the poltergeist.

Admittedly, that would've been _cooler._

Fearing the worst, Sam had barrelled through the kitchen door, only to find the room had its own brand of guard.

As in, _guard dog._

Which launched at head height from the kitchen counter, aiming for Sam's unprotected face and jugular.

Except, Fido didn't make it.

The dog was naturally rather surprised when a large boot swiftly jammed up its backside, knocked it off course, and threw it head first into the kitchen waste bin.

Dean, leg still raised at shoulder height, in quite possibly his best _ever_ Jean Claude Van Damme manoeuvre, swivelled gracefully on one foot, and used his heel to slam the lid of the bin shut.

He lowered his foot, turned, bowed and grinned widely, whereupon Sammy applauded loudly.

Dean basked in the glow of success whilst Sam extolled his big brother's skills and quick reactions.

"Dude! That was so cool! Will you teach me how to do that?"

"When you're a little older and a little taller, squirt…"

In the background the waste bin was rocking to and fro, and muffled, angry _doggy_ growls could easily be translated as _someone's in for an ass-chewing when I get out of here!_

"_Please _Dean?" Sam was gazing up at his big brother, eyes shining with love and gratitude.

How could he refuse? Not with being _puppy-dogged _and all_._

"Boys? You ok back there?" their father's muffled voice came from the cellar, followed by a loud crash and a _"Ha! Got the bitch!"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Much to John's amusement, the brothers spent an entire weekend watching and learning from Van Damme movies, and rough housing on the lounge carpet.

Dean had to admit, as he pulled his kid brother into a gentle headlock…

_Sammy sure learns fast._

…and laughed when his brother slipped out and got the upper hand.

It looked like _ballet class for the violent and insane_ when Dean later began teaching his little brother the leg manoeuvre that saved Sam from having his face chewed off. The two boys stood side by side, balanced on one foot, legs extended, then swung…

The first time, Sam's foot caught a reading lamp and nearly ended up braining himself on the coffee table.

But Dean's grin was just a little more than proud, when the kid completed the move perfectly on the second try.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Cool movies and brotherly moments aside, from that moment on Sam had been a living hell to, well, _live_ with.

The hero worship had been fun, even cute at first, and if Dean were honest, it had been there all along, ever since the day Sammy came home from the hospital. Wrapped in soft blankets, and sleepy from the ride home, the newborn had reached out to Dean and wrapped a tiny hand round his big brother's index finger. In that instant, Dean had been pretty much smitten with his baby bro, and spent all his time eagerly learning how to care for Sammy, with Mary and John Winchester watching on in fond amusement.

Sam followed Dean around from the first moment he learned to crawl, and though he would never admit it aloud, it _was_ kinda cool having his little brother's absolute trust and adoration.

But this was something new...

Dean had breakfast in bed every morning, his boots were gleaming, leather jacket always hung up neatly on the back of the door, and fresh coffee was available whenever he needed it.

But it was starting to grate on his nerves. Sam wouldn't leave him alone.

_At any time_.

The kid constantly bugged him, even hanging out in the bathroom whether Dean was in the shower_, _or taking a pissfor Christ sake!

No place was safe, no place was _private._

But Dean was determined.

"You mind running across to the convenience store?" Dean kept his tone innocent. It was really getting too much and something had to be done before he went crazy.

Sam was all smiles, happiness and eager to please. If he were a puppy, he'd have been a Labrador, panting excitedly, tail wagging so hard he'd trip himself up, licking his master's hand furiously… the image almost made Dean laugh.

"Sure, Dean," Sam's wide eyes gazed innocently up at his big brother, filled with blatant awe and admiration. "What dya need?"

Dean was starting to feel a little guilty and nearly caved. But he was a growing boy with raging hormones, and _God _he needed some alone time.

"Here squirt," Dean handed over some notes. "See if you can get me four feet of fallopian tube, and some umbilical cord." He added when Sam frowned, "Gonna need it for maintenance when Dad gets back with the car." Dean added, proudly, his chest puffed up "gonna be mine someday, Sammy. Dad said so. And one day _I'll_ teach ya ta drive her..."

Dean watched his brother closely, waiting to see if he bought it.

Sam was thinking hard. He knew of such things in Biology, knew the female reproduction system pretty well from science class, but were those terms also applied in motor mechanics? He had no idea. Sam once overheard his father talk about _male_ and _female_ electrical connectors so may be…

He shrugged.

Dean said he'd _teach him to drive one day..._

"You sure they'll have that sorta thing over there?" Sam's smile dipped into worry, and he bit his lip when Dean looked a little hurt.

"Look, Sam, if you don't wanna go…"

"No!" Sam shook his head frantically. "No, of course I'll go, I just, ya know, wondered if it was that kind of store?"

"Well, it's a big place, Sam, so make sure you look everywhere, ok?" Dean felt like a truly horrible person when the kid nodded enthusiastically, and handed him an extra five dollar bill to ease his conscience. "Sammy? Treat yaself to some candy over there, huh?"

And was rewarded with a brilliant smile, just as Sam slid off the bed and scampered out the door.

After all, it was just across the road. What could possibly go wrong?

Dean headed to the bathroom with a stolen copy of Busty Asian Beauties, sighed in satisfaction before closing the door, and locked it with a deeply smug grin.

_Alone_ time.

Ohhh Yeeeaaahhh…

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam wandered slowly up and down each aisle, growing more and more despondent with his search. It was actually his second trip, because after the first trip yielded no fallopian tube _or _umbilical cord, he'd gone to ask for help from the store owner.

The guy – short, beefy, mid-sixties, name tag read 'Jack Molloy of _Molloy_'s _Convenience_'- had laughed good naturedly, said he wasn't sure if he still had those items in stock, but told Sam he could search for as long as he wanted, just in case he was wrong.

He even offered Sam a free candy bar.

"In case you get hungry, kid," his eyes twinkled kindly. "You got a big search ahead of ya, so ya could be a while."

Sam had no idea what he was laughing at, but the owner seemed nice enough, so Sam took him up on his offer.

Chewing on the candy bar, Sam glanced at his watch and gasped.

He'd been searching for a half hour already, and it was tempting to give in and return to his brother. But the thought of letting Dean down when he needed him, needed _Sam_ to come through for _him_ for once, left Sam's gut feeling distinctly unsettled. He couldn't do it.

He'd stay there all day if he had to.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Jack was still chuckling to himself a while later, as he went over the books. The poor kid had obviously been sent here to give his older brother a break. Having been raised in a household of six screaming hellions for sisters, he could certainly identify with that.

Jack let the kid roam around safely, figuring he'd soon get bored and wander home.

Turning a page, jabbing at a small calculator that had seen better days, Jack didn't realise he had a customer, until a shadow loomed over him.

Glancing up, his face froze at the sight of a black ski mask, and more importantly, what appeared to be a large calibre handgun.

"Keep your hands where I can see them…" the gunman's voice was gruff, determined, and above all, desperate.

Jack knew pissing him off was a bad idea, and somehow got the feeling it wouldn't take much.

So when a blur of movement caught his eye, he couldn't help screaming out.

"No! Run kid, RUN!"

But the child did nothing of the kind.

The gunman, caught unawares, swung round, only to be met with the business end of a small sneaker. The gun went flying off into an aisle, and the kid went to town on the masked intruder with some pretty impressive martial arts moves Jack had only ever seen in the movies.

With the gunman down, and whimpering on the floor, Jack reached for the phone when a loud shot rang out.

The youngster cried out in pain, and collapsed unmoving on the floor, blood pooling around his upper body.

If Jack had a hard time trying to wrap his mind around the idea of _one_ gunman, then having two on the loose was giving him a headache. Heart pounding with dread for the injured kid, and crouching down behind the counter, he dialled 911, and left the line open, not daring to speak in case the other gunman heard and came after him.

Praying the dispatcher would get the message and send help, he didn't have time to reach for his granddaddy's old shotgun hidden on the lowest shelf, because someone was yelling, swearing and demanding to know "_where's Sammy? Sammy where are you?_"

Scuffling, more swearing and more gun fire, a harsh thud, like a heavy body hitting the floor, then silence.

Jack poked his head tentatively up from behind the counter, at the same time the owner of the voice came into view.

A tall, good looking boy, moving like a predator, stalked the aisles, still shouting frantically. "_Sammy? You ok little brother? Answer me!_"

Jack's heart sank.

_This must be the big brother who sent the kid out on a fool's errand._

Before Jack could move and attract his attention, the older brother's green gaze frantically swept the store again, and widened with fear when he rounded into the next aisle.

"Sammy!"

He scrambled over, slid to his knees uncaring of the blood, and cradled the injured boy in his arms.

Jack, heart breaking, picked up the receiver once more, and spoke with emergency services.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It was a scene that would stay with him for many years, imprinted in his mind like a terrible Polaroid he could never tear up or burn.

Sam lay on his back, head lolled to the left, right arm draped across his chest, left arm stretched out. Dean fervently hoped his unconscious state was down to shock, and the wound only looked worse than it was because Sam was wearing a white Tee-shirt.

Somehow, he didn't think so.

Somehow, Winchester luck always had its way.

Sam was pale and still on the floor. Dean gently gathered him up, holding the kid's head against his shoulder in support, and clamping down on the chest wound to stem the bleeding.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean started the frantic questioning straight off, voice shaking with fear, the words all coming out in a rush. "C'mon kiddo, wake up for me. Please? Please Sammy? Sam?"

He didn't give a shit about the dead gunman lying over in the next aisle, or the other gunman lying bruised and battered by the counter. The whole world could have gone to hell for all Dean cared, because Sam was struggling to breathe. Short, shallow breaths wheezed in and out and Dean could feel the youngster's body quivering with the effort.

"Probably punctured a lung_,"_ Dean muttered, fearfully. "What in hell was I thinking, sending you out here alone?"

But it was one of those small, quiet towns, where nothing ever happens; the only violence erupted at the local bar on a Saturday night, and _that_ only amounted to a few black eyes between friends. Theft consisted of a few apples scrumped from the nearby orchards each summer.

But that was no excuse. Gazing down at his injured brother, Dean reasoned there were no excuses in the world to account for this.

_I shoulda known better!_

"C'mon baby bro, open your eyes," Dean resisted the urge to rock him, far too worried about causing the kid any more pain.

Sam's brows drew down, and a small, helpless whimper escaped his mouth.

"That's it, Sammy, you can do it." Dean watched anxiously as the boy's lids fluttered open to reveal glassy blue-green eyes, filled with pain. He could see Sam was struggling to focus, the kid blinking heavily and frowning in confusion.

"Good boy, now stay awake for me, ok?" Dean murmured softly, tugging him closer when the boy shivered harshly. Sam was practically swaddled in his own personal Dean-blanket, complete with big-brother-leather-comforter.

A quick glance up at the store owner confirmed the guy was asking for police and ambulance crews.

"Helps on the way, Sammy, just stay still and relax, kiddo." Dean gave him a shaky smile, and brushed a few strands of hair out of the youngster's eyes.

Sam's mouth fell open, and a strangled noise made its way up from the back of his throat. Sam was trying to speak.

Blue tinged lips formed one soundless word, just as red bubbles spilled over his chin.

_Dean._

"Shhhh, don't try to talk Sammy. There'll be plenty of time for that later, when we get you all fixed up, ok?" Dean panicked when Sam's eyes slid shut again. "_Oh no you don't!_ You stay awake! You hearing me? Sam? Sammy? _Sammy!_"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"_Dean? What's wrong?"_

"Dad..."

"_Talk to me Dean! Is everything ok?"_

"No. Nothing's ok. Sam… Sammy's been sh-shot. I-I don't know what to do, b-but I-I think he's…"

"_What the hell happened?"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean approached the damn desk about four dozen times.

And each time he got the same damn answer.

"We'll call you when we know something. Please take a seat, sir."

Dean didn't want a damn seat.

He wanted some damn news on his baby brother.

His last sighting hadn't been encouraging. Sam was turning a mottled grey, the wound still leaking blood like a burst dam. His face was mostly obscured by an oxygen mask, and some kind soul was assisting Sam's breathing by squeezing a plastic bag.

Dean wasn't sure how that was supposed to help, and could only assume all emergency staff trained as milk maids before going to college. The endless squeezing of cows udders…

Dean shook his head, and wondered if it was worry or lack of food turning him crazy.

_Cows udders?_

Probably both.

Whatever. He couldn't bring himself to eat, and the worry wasn't letting up until he had _good_ news of Sam.

And the surgery was taking too damn long. That couldn't be _good_ news.

They'd sure prepped the kid fast enough. T

he part that made Dean wince, aside from the nasty, life-threatening _bullet hole_, had to be when the doctor inserted a tube into Sam's chest.

He didn't ask. Didn't wanna know.

So long as Sam got the help he needed.

The ER staff seemed to concur with that idea, because the next thing Dean knew, his little brother was whisked away behind the doors of the OR.

And so here he was, hours later, awaiting news, going slightly crazy, his father hadn't yet shown his face, his stomach was growling, and as for the coffee…

_Don't even get me started!_

Of course, the real meat of the matter hadn't really got going yet.

Dean's guilt was just sitting calmly, certainly more calmly than Dean himself, waiting for the chance to strike. Waiting for the big brother to crack completely, then it would go in for the kill.

It didn't have long to wait for the trigger.

Because the trigger came in the form of a tired, uptight and extremely worried John Winchester.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John's glare said it all.

"I'm not even getting into it," he growled, and Dean just nodded forlornly.

There really was no need to answer that. He'd told John what happened over the phone, and his dad merely uttered a furious "I'm on my way", then hung up.

Dean was well and truly in the shit, and he deserved everything his father threw at him.

So much so, he wasn't surprised to find himself yanked up out of his seat by the shirt collar, and pinned to the waiting room wall.

"Dad, I-I'm s-sorry... I should've kept him with me... I heard the gunshot... but when I got there..."

John got right up close, almost menacing.

"Take that look off your face!" he hissed, and Dean flinched.

Yep. The train to Guiltsville left the platform, with a dramatic gust of steam, and its coal fire burning brightly.

"Mr Winchester? Sam's father, I presume?"

Father and eldest son turned to face Sam's doctor, hearts filled with dread.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Heaving a sigh of relief, John and Dean simultaneously sank down into the waiting room seats.

Sam came through the surgery, and was lying unconscious in Recovery. His right lung, though badly damaged, would fully heal provided Sam took it easy. He'd be stiff, in a lot of pain for a while, and probably need physical therapy.

But he could breathe. He was alive.

The bullet had been taken by the police as evidence, presumably to send to Ballistics for examination. They'd also taken Dean's statement, as well as Jack Molloy's, the store owner. One robber was confirmed dead, killed by his own gun after Dean wrestled it from him; the other was in custody making a full confession.

John had tried hard not to lose it.

_Both_ his son's had made some foolish decisions that day. What the hell Sam thought he was doing, taking on an armed robber, he'd never figure out. The boy was _twelve_ _years old _for Christ sake, but apparently, according to Jack, he thought he was the next damn karate kid!

Though Jack had praised Sam's courage and skill, hoping to personally thank the kid for saving his life, John wanted to strangle his baby boy. Sure, he felt proud as hell, but... _God!_

Sam got _shot!_

And Dean... he goes and does the exact same damn thing!

What the hell was wrong with his kids?

John ran a hand through his hair in fearful frustration.

_Seems they've got an even bigger death wish than their old man!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam's eyes wouldn't open. He felt fairly certain he was awake, if woozy, but not one part of his body was cooperating with his insistent desire to _prove_ his wakefulness.

The smell of the room – _antiseptic_– and the soft, clean smelling bed linen, told Sam he was in a hospital, but it didn't tell him why.

There was something attached to one of his fingers; it felt like some kind of clip. Although uncomfortable, it barely held a candle to the pain in his chest. Sharp, pulsing with each heart beat and generally making him miserable, he wondered if this was the price he paid for accepting that free candy bar. After all, he had the money to pay for it; his brother had given it to him before he left the motel room...

Why was he so tired? What happened exactly?

Sam was having a significant struggle remembering anything after entering the store and talking to the owner. And anything he did remember made no sense whatsoever.

_Something to do with umbilical cord…and Dean said he wanted some fallopian tube…?_

Ok, that just confused him all the more.

He knew his older brother had been with him at some point, but that memory was a little hazy, warped and twisted in knots by terrible pain. Dean's worried, no, try _terrified_ face swam in and out of Sam's head.

Sam couldn't imagine why Dean would be terrified, 'cause as far as he knew, his big brother wasn't afraid of anything.

_Maybe I was dreaming..._

A door opened nearby, and feet padded softly towards him. Sam could sense their presence, but already he was beginning the unstoppable slide back into a deep sleep.

"Sammy? You awake?"

Sam had just enough awareness to know that voice. And when the owner gently grasped one of his hands, Sam managed a light squeeze and a soft moan of frustration before slipping away again, his brother's voice following him down.

"_Just relax kiddo. I gotcha."_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So... what you gonna do about it, Dean?" John raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Now he'd calmed down, narrowly avoided a heart attack, and managed to pry his hands loose from Dean's neck, John was feeling marginally better. _Now_ he faced the insurmountable task of making sure his oldest son didn't beat himself to death over it.

Sam was asleep, alive and recovering. On reflection, John felt things could have been much worse.

Dean had a fair idea where he was going with this, and his dad didn't sound mad at him anymore. But that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"I'm gonna explain and apologize, Dad. Soon as he wakes up."

"Sure about that?" John smoothed down Sam's blankets, then settled in his seat, content with gently stroking the boy's pale cheek. "That could hurt him."

"He has a right to know…" Dean paused before forcing the rest of the words out, "…why he got _shot_. It was down to me..."

"No, son, listen to me, ok?" John was full of surprises. Sure, he didn't _sound_ mad, but that didn't mean to say he still _wasn't._ "It was a stupid joke. One we've all played on someone at one stage or other..."

"He's a just a kid, Dad! How could I do that to him? I lied to him, laughed at him behind his back, broke his trust... and he nearly died!" Leaning forward in his own seat, the older brother ran shaky fingers through the younger boy's hair, brushing it gently behind Sam's ears. "I'm a terrible brother. Don't know how he puts up with me."

"'Cause Sammy loves you, Dean," his father replied, softly. "And like it or not, you're still a kid yaself. I was a teenager once, ya know. You need your own time and space, and with the life we lead, it ain't always possible to provide for that. What happened to Sam was just damn bad luck, though what he thought he was doing tackling a _gunman_..." he finished looking pointedly at Dean, who nodded. Yeah, that was a dig at Dean's own heroics for sure. But John knew his oldest son well, and suspected the kid would do it all over again if it meant saving Sammy's life.

Dean was surprised to say the least. It sounded like his father actually felt _sympathetic_ to his cause. He expected yelling, cursing, angry glares, _anything _but John's understanding.

Dean sighed way too heavily for someone of sixteen.

"Wrong time, wrong place, huh?"

John nodded. "That's about the size of it."

The three Winchesters were silent for a long while, two of them awake, the third and youngest sleeping the sleep of the happily stoned.

"Dya think he'll be mad at me? I mean, remember when I hid his science project last year?" Dean shook his head, puffing out a small brittle sounding snort. "He missed the deadline and got an F. Kid didn't speak to me for a week."

John tipped his head to one side as he considered that.

"Hmm. Well, I guess you'll find out when he wakes up." He smiled a little. "Maybe next time, you should just tell him the truth. Sam's a smart kid; he might understand."

"Yeah." Glancing over at his father, Dean frowned. "Ya know, only reason I did it was to protect him, Dad. I didn't want him to think he was nothing but a burden, constantly hanging around me, not leaving me in any peace. Sam's way too sensitive for that; I didn't feel I had a choice. So I got rid of him the only way I could... I sent him to the store for nothing..."

John chuckled. "Was a good one though, Dean. Fallopian tube and umbilical cord? Where'd ya get _that_ from?"

The door clicked open, revealing the harried face of Sam's physician, Doc Rozel.

"Sorry to interrupt gentleman, but could I have a word about Sam's treatment? It's quite important."

Casting Sam a sad smile, Dean and John got to their feet and followed the doctor out into the hallway.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam awoke to the sound of soft voices. Swimming through the grogginess was quite the challenge, but he soon figured out who the voices belonged to... and then he concentrated on what they were saying.

_...was nothing but a burden, constantly hanging around me, not leaving me in any peace. Sam's way too sensitive… I didn't feel I had a choice. So I got rid of him the only way I could... I sent him to the store for nothing..._

Sam froze, then heard his father's soft laugh.

_Was a good one though, Dean. Fallopian tube and umbilical cord? Where'd ya get __**that **__from?_

Sam was saved from any further emotional pain when his family were called away.

Swallowing hard, Sam's eyes cracked open, releasing large teardrops that streamed silently down his face.

He'd never felt so humiliated in his life.

His brother had made a complete and utter fool out of him.

And now his dad was laughing at him.

Sam sniffed and rolled his head to the side.

_Burden... always hanging around, huh?_

_I can soon fix that._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Almost a week later saw Dean and John once again in deep discussion outside Sam's room.

"Make sure he keeps his arm in the sling," Doc Rozel prattled on, fierce eyes darting from one Winchester to the other. "He'll need all the support he can get. I want to see him back here for regular weekly checkups. Also, and I can't emphasize this enough, the child needs plenty of bed rest. In fact, I don't want him on his feet for at least two weeks after his release. Can't risk him taking a fall and bursting those stitches."

"You got it, Doc." John responded at once, and clapped a hand on his oldest son's back. "That right, sport?"

"Damn straight." Dean nodded enthusiastically, looking forward to having his kid brother back home where he could keep an eye on the boy. This time, his hero of a little brother would have breakfast in bed, with Dean gladly doing all his chores. Last time he checked in on Sam, the kid looked worryingly pale, cheeks sunken and mouth almost bloodless. It was going to take time, but Dean was determined Sam would bounce back from this, which meant making sure the kid rested properly, as per doctor's orders.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was eerily quiet. He wouldn't look John or Dean in the eye, and whenever they tried to include him in conversations, he feigned tiredness and they left him alone. Dean hovered, checking the sling was tight enough, plumping his pillows, offering juice and water, barely receiving a muted 'thanks' in return. Sam had been in hospital a week, and that week of silence was taking its toll. At least he was eating, if only the bare minimum.

Dean assumed Sam was still hurting, in post-trauma shock, and just needed lots of care and patience.

John, however, eyed both his sons warily. He knew something was going on, but wasn't sure what.

"Hey Sam? Dean and I are just gonna head for the canteen, see if we can't rustle up some decent coffee." John smiled worriedly down at the kid. "You be ok here by yaself for a little while?"

Sam bit his lip, as though holding back an angry retort, then just nodded.

As soon as his dad and brother left the room, Sam pushed back the covers, and gingerly climbed out of bed. He knew where his clothes were kept, having _puppy-dogged_ the nurses, but that wasn't the problem.

Getting dressed was hard going, especially with the sling getting in the way. He had to stop and rest several times, partly from exhaustion, but mostly because the pain threatened to drag him down. The biggest challenge came in trying to slip on his sneakers, which took way too long for his liking and the _stretchpull_ on his stitches made him feel queasy. A quick search turned up pen and paper; a quick scribble here and a hastily signed _Sam _there, he was set to go.

Grunting in pain, and eyeing the door in case his family returned prematurely, Sam did up the laces, crept over to his only means of escape, and pressed his ear against the wood. When he was satisfied there was no one out there to spot his departure, he quietly slipped from the room.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dean, I want you to try and talk to Sam," John sipped his coffee, and managed to hold back a grimace of disgust. "Something's goin' on with him."

The senior Winchesters stood outside in the hospital gardens, breathing in fresh air, and talking quietly.

Dean blew out a breath and shrugged helplessly.

"I already tried, Dad. He says he's fine, just tired," he smiled weakly at his father. "Yeah, not sure I buy it either."

John sighed.

"Of all the damn things to go wrong on a hunt, weapons jam, bad Intel, vengeful spirits... and Sam gets taken down in a convenience store robbery." He sighed again, and scratched the back of his head in bewilderment. "I guess sometimes I forget not all evil is supernatural."

Dean smirked his agreement.

"This _is_ Sam we're talking about, Dad. If there's trouble, he'll find it."

"Don't you mean, trouble finds him?" his Dad retorted with a half smile.

"Exactly," Dean's smile began to fade. _Though in this case, I guess you could say I sent him into its path._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam made it out of the hospital without running into any nurses, doctors and orderlies that knew him. More importantly, he hadn't run into his Dad and brother. Setting out in earnest, with the intention of putting as much distance behind him as possible, Sam lifted his chin and strode proudly away.

Trudging along the roadside a little while later, the smell of the local diner's lunchtime offerings wafted under his nostrils, and his stomach growled hungrily. Unfortunately, his pockets were empty.

But, Sam had a plan.

Ok, he had no money, but he still had a plan so he was halfway to his goal. That made him feel a little better.

Ya know, aside from the crippling ache in his chest, the dizziness, fatigue, and now, of all things, loneliness. His chest and shoulder were still badly bruised from the bullet's impact, and Sam was now grateful for the dark blue sling that kept his arm immobile. He had no idea how he far he would have gotten without it.

The smell from the diner was beginning to tantalize, and Sam's mouth watered. His weary gazed picked out dumpsters huddled in the side alley of the diner.

_Anything will do. Day old burgers, I don't care. Maybe once I've eaten, I'll hitch a ride to Uncle Bobby's. He won't turn me away... I hope._

It meant crossing the road. Not that Sam particularly minded, but the world was beginning to swim in and out of focus, and his eyes were having trouble staying open. Not the best way to make a safe crossing on a busy road.

_Food. Once I have some food inside me I'll soon feel better. Just gotta be extra careful._

Sam _carefully_ checked both ways, almost keeling over as he moved his head from left to right. After waiting for a decent break in the traffic, he stepped out onto the road.

A few stumbling steps and he reached the halfway point. His legs felt like lead weights, and the ever increasing need to sleep was fast catching him up.

_So far so good..._

A screech of brakes and the loud blaring of someone's car horn was Sam's undoing. Startled by the noise, his body instinctively jerked round, and a burst of pain erupted in his chest. His vision darkened surprisingly fast, and Sam passed out...

... right in the middle of the road.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Life was good. The car radio was blasting out something actually worth listening to for once- _Honkytonk Woman, a classic Stones track, easily one of their best _claimed the enthusiastic DJ - the sun was shining, and not a single cloud smudged the perfect blue of the sky.

Jack Molloy was on his way to visit the young boy who'd saved his life over a week ago. A stack of Spiderman comics and candy sat on the passenger seat, along with a cute stuffed Labrador pup he'd seen in the window of his neighbour's toy store. Kid was probably too old for cuddly toys, but Jack couldn't resist it. It reminded him of Sam Winchester, the brave child with the soft eyes, who nearly died on behalf of a complete stranger just beginning the twilight years of his life.

Jack always paid considerable attention behind the wheel, and never more so today. So when a remarkably familiar figure staggered out in front of the car, he reacted quickly. Slamming on the brakes and hitting the horn, his white Toyota Tundra screeched to a halt just inches from a dazed and sick looking Sam Winchester.

The kid blinked once, and promptly fainted, body falling limp on the tarmac.

Jack was out the car in a flash, screaming for someone to call an ambulance.

Kneeling down beside him, he noticed a faint shiver run through the boy's body, and began shrugging out of his jacket.

"Sam? Sam Winchester? Can you hear me, kid?" Covering the small body with the jacket, and keeping an ear listening closely for wailing sirens, Jack carried on gently talking to the youngster, hoping to bring him round. "What you doing out here? You should be in the hospital! Where's your family, huh? They round here someplace? C'mon kid, wake up for me..."

Sam shivered again, but still didn't rouse.

Not even the ambulance sirens brought him back.

Several doors opened and slammed shut, and two EMTs appeared carrying a collapsible gurney and heavy looking med kits.

"Jack? You hit him?" A burly EMT in his late thirties gazed at Jack, eyebrows raised.

It was a horrible thing to ask, but he had no choice.

"No, Frank, he just walked out in front of me, and passed out on the road..."

Frank nodded, accepting his answer without further question. He'd known the older guy since he first scraped his knees on the sidewalk outside Jack's store over thirty years ago. Jack had taken him in, given him a soda and tended his wounds, all the while talking gently and telling him what a brave boy he was. They'd been firm friends ever since, and it was partly the reason why Frank became a medic. Jack even attended Frank's graduation, cheering away like a proud parent, tears of joy rolling down his face.

Giving the old guy a reassuring nod, Frank got to work.

Jack watched on in despair when the EMTs examined the kid, only to find blood had soaked through the front of his shirt.

"Looks like the kid had some kind of surgery recently..."

Jack stepped forward.

"Frank, I was on my way to see him in the hospital. His name is Sam Winchester." Jack eyed their movements, feeling all kinds of protective over his charge. "Kid was shot by a masked gunman trying to rob my store last week."

A loud murmur of shock went up behind him, and Jack turned to find quite a crowd gathered at the edge of the road. Diner customers and road users alike were watching on in distress, and in some cases – _because voyeurism is one of the least attractive human traits _– outright gleeful curiosity.

"Gunshot?" A member of the gathering glanced at Sam in mock disbelief, and practically sneered "but he's just a kid..."

"A kid who saved my life!" Jack growled angrily, wondering how in hell he'd put up with living in such a backwards community for so long, then turned back to the EMTs.

Frank nodded. "Whole town's still talkin' 'bout it. Kid's a damn hero. But what he's doing out here?"

The younger EMT, barely out of college by the looks of him, checked his patient's wound again.

"The stitches are all burst, and it's showing early signs of infection," he glanced up at his colleague. "We should get him on oxygen before his BP starts to plummet."

"Our stores getting robbed, young kids getting shot..." Frank shook his head, sadly, checking the kid was comfortable. "Guess the outside world is finally catching up with us, huh? C'mon. Let's get him to the ER." He glanced at Jack. "You know his family?"

Jack nodded, hesitantly. "Sorta. I'll get Sam's doctor to contact them..."

He watched and waited while the EMTs prepared Sam for the journey. Blankets, IVs, monitors, and the reappearance of the dreaded oxygen mask served to remind Jack of the first time he'd seen this kid hurt.

As he climbed back into the Tundra, and began to follow the ambulance through the traffic, earlier questions came back to taunt him.

_What was he doing out here?_

_Where were his family?_

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**

_Where the hell is he?_

_And what the hell's he doing outta bed?_

Dean was first back to Sam's room, his father having adjourned to answer the call of nature. They'd both been gone much longer than planned and Dean was desperate to talk to his little brother. But the bed was empty, sheets and blankets rumpled, and an open drawer informed the older brother that Sam's clothes were missing.

"Sam?" Dean's anxious gaze roamed the room. Since Sam's injury, and consequent hospitalization, his Big Brother instincts were on high alert and right then? They were screaming at him. "Sammy?" Dean's voice rose along with his panic levels.

A slip of paper caught his eye from the nightstand. Dean approached, cautiously, as though dreading whatever message it might carry. As the words took shape and came into focus, Sam's shaky handwriting was revealed.

_Don't wanna be a burden. I'll stay away from now on._

_Sam._

Dean blinked, and his frozen brain tried to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. Then he knew; a snippet from a conversation whispered over his sleeping little brother's head…

_Oh God, Sammy! You were awake, weren't you?_

The note paper crumpled in his fingers, just as Dean raced out of the room.

Heavy boots pounded the tiles, and skidded to a halt when John Winchester stepped out in front, eyes wide with concern.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"Sammy's gone… he must've heard what we said… remember?" Dean panted and shoved Sam's note at his father, tears of sadness spilling over and rolling down his face. "I said… I said…"

John didn't need to hear it. He'd already figured it out from the note. The eldest Winchester closed his eyes briefly, heart aching for his youngest child.

"C'mon." John grabbed Dean's shoulder and pulled him along the corridor. "We need to talk to Sam's doctor, get a search underway…"

"There's no need," Dr Rozel called out from his office door, shrugging into his white coat. "Your son's on his way here by ambulance. Jack Molloy had me paged just now. Apparently, Sam collapsed in the middle of the road right in front of Jack's car, about two miles from here."

Dean felt the blood drain away from his head and John just gaped.

A burst of activity ahead caught their attention, and they gasped when Sam was wheeled in, followed by a tired and worried looking Jack.

Dean could just make out Sam's face under the oxygen mask, and he didn't like what he saw. His brother looked terrible, ghostly pale, a fine sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow, body assaulted by terrible shivering. Blood soaked through the fresh bandages across his chest, and there was no sign of the sling.

The urgent movements and sharply barked orders from Dr Rozel only added to their worries.

"Oh my God!" Dean heard his father whisper in fear. "Sammy…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Hours passed by the time Dr Rozel put in an appearance, though for Dean it seemed like a week.

The two older Winchesters waited with barely concealed impatience as the tired doctor approached. It was hard not to snap, but the poor doc had been on duty now for some thirty six hours and John figured the guy was owed a break or two. It wasn't unusual for the medical staff to pull long shifts in such a small community hospital. The workload was so small that decent rest periods were possible using the small recliner beds in the staff room. But Doc Rozel had been concerned enough to stay up with Sam throughout the night.

Fortunately, tired though he might have been, the Doc didn't mince words.

"Sam's wound developed a mild infection which we could have cleared up with antibiotics in no time at all, _if_ he'd stayed in bed," Dr Rozel wasn't outright suggesting it was all their fault, but the message that he held them _partly_ responsible was received loud and clear; Dean couldn't find it within his heart to blame the guy. "However, the incident on the road has taken its toll. He bust every one of his stitches, which of course made matters worse, blood loss etc. On top of that, the boy's exhausted." The Doc unsuccessfully stifled a yawn, then continued. "I strongly suggest you have a talk with Sam, once he's awake. He really can't afford to complicate his injuries any further."

"Oh, we intend to." John muttered, already planning the one-sided conversation in his head.

"Will he be ok?" Dean burst out, desperate to know.

"I think so, but I make no promises. That infection's become quite nasty." The Doc unwrapped the stethoscope from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. "He's on some heavy duty antibiotics for the moment. But I'm hopeful."

For the first time since they met him, Doc Rozel smiled suddenly.

It wasn't a bright or beaming smile, more a soft smile of understanding, before taking off for his next rest period.

The Winchester's got the feeling that somehow they'd been let off the hook, and were able to breathe a little easier. Dean approached the isolation window, pressed one hand against the glass, and watched his sleeping brother. The kid looked a damn sight more comfortable than the last time Dean saw him. He was still hooked up to various IVs and his small face was obscured by the mask.

Dean wasn't taking anything for granted. Once Sam was awake, then the older boy would begin to truly relax. Fact was, the thought of losing Sam terrified him.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered, fearfully. "You can make it, little brother."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Two days later Sam was still on oxygen, but reduced to a nasal canular, which wasn't much better. He lay back against his pillows feeling sad and depressed, still unable to face a family that no longer wanted him.

As soon as he woke up, the Doc had him moved out of isolation and into a private room.

It hadn't been an easy decision for Sam, asking that his father and brother be kept away from him, and though the nurses and Doc Rozel tried to reassure him, Sam just wouldn't believe they truly cared.

Little did he know that just outside the room, his angry and scared older brother paced anxiously, occasionally throwing mournful glances at the closed door.

Dean had promised the doc he would respect Sam's wishes, but he was so tempted to just barge in. However, John had pointed out a move like that would only solidify Sam's mistrust, not to mention stress the kid out, and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

He suddenly stopped and leaned against the door, one hand brushing lightly over the surface as though trying to reach his little brother through the wood.

"Please Sammy," he whispered sadly, "I won't let you down again, I promise. Just let me in…"

"Son? Why don't you let me talk to him?" A voice spoke up from behind.

Dean whirled round, wiping at his eyes and sniffing, pretending he hadn't been caught in the act of actually _crying_.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered out, then got a good look at the newcomer. "Oh, it's you Mr Molloy. Uh… thanks for acting so quickly, helping my brother…"

"It's no trouble, I assure you," Jack interrupted kindly. "But I meant what I said. I might be able to help." He hefted a plastic bag full of comics and grinned. "I brought candy too. Think it'll work?"

Dean grinned back, in spite of himself. "Sam don't bribe easy." To his own shock, Dean shrugged and added "sure, why not? Can't hurt."

Jack handed him a soft toy. "Maybe when he's ready to talk, you could give him this."

Dean stroked the toy puppy's ears and nodded sadly. He stepped back and turned away from the door, worried that Sam might freak out if he knew just how close by his family really was. Doc Rozel had blatantly lied to the kid, told him John and Dean had been sent to the staff canteen until Sam was ready to see them.

Dean heard Jack knock on the door.

"Sam? It's Jack Molloy. Can I come in? I got something for ya."

A soft murmur and the guy opened the door, gently closing it behind him.

Dean let out a sigh, leaned against the wall, and slid down, settling in for a long wait.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hi there Sam." Jack smiled and crossed the room to stand by the bed. "Don't suppose you remember much about me, huh?"

The kid squinted tiredly and nodded. "Yeah, I do. You own that store…" his voice trailed off, left hand fiddling nervously with the strap on his sling.

Jack bit his lip, then motioned to the seat next to the night stand. "May I?"

"Sure." Sam tried to muster a smile, but failed miserably.

"I brought you some of those candy bars, and Spiderman comics," Jack placed the bag on the roll away table, and took out the top copy. "I wasn't sure what you like to read…"

"Thanks," Sam answered in a small voice. "I like Spiderman."

An awkward silence stretched out between them, and they both shifted uncomfortably.

"He's out there now, isn't he?" Sam suddenly spoke up. "My brother I mean?"

Jack sat back in his seat and nodded.

"Yeah, he is."

The kid chewed on his lip worriedly.

"He… uh… is me mad at me?"

Jack must have looked as shocked as he felt, because the kid's eyes widened fearfully.

"No! Of course not! At least, not with you." Jack had caught a few of the conversations between Doc Rozel and Sam's family, and had a rough idea what had gone on, knew why the kid ran off. "He's mad as hell at himself, though. Last thing he wanted was his little brother getting hurt again. Already blames himself for you getting shot in the first place."

"That's…" Sam considered that for a long moment, then finished what he wanted to say. "That's just _dumb._"

In no way, in no stretch of the imagination did he blame his brother for _that_. Sure, if it hadn't been for the humiliating prank Sam wouldn't have been in the store to start with, but it could have happened anywhere, and at anytime. There were plenty of opportunities for disaster to strike, especially given their line of work. And it was Sam's own choice to leave the hospital before he was ready, therefore his own fault for getting sick.

"Yeah," Jack nodded his agreement. "But ya know? Big brothers always blame themselves when their younger siblings get hurt. Comes with the territory. It's kinda Dean's job to take care of you, and it's one he's very proud of."

"Really?" Sam regarded Jack with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Jack grinned smugly. "Had four younger sisters when I was growing up. It ain't an easy job, but it's sure worth it. But do you know what your job is, Sam?"

The boy frowned, then shook his head.

"Your job is to stick around, and be the little brother," answered Jack. "Dean loves taking care of you, but he's human and gonna make mistakes. When he does or says something that hurts you, or makes you mad, tell him. Give him the chance to make it right again."

Sam nodded slowly in understanding. "And let him know when he's doing a great job?" he asked, tentatively.

Jack grinned again. "Yeah, but not too much or it'll go to his head!"

Sam snorted lightly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean glanced at his watch several times, hummed some long forgotten rock tune under his breath, and glanced at his watch again. Dad was still out getting food and supplies, and wouldn't be back for at least another half hour.

He'd spent some of his time thinking up ways to talk to Sam, how to apologize and explain without it sounding like some shitty way to excuse his behaviour.

The more he thought about it the more worried he became, the more anxious that he'd lost his best friend and little brother over a stupid prank. So deep in depression and despair, Dean didn't realise the door had opened until Jack squeezed his shoulder. Blinking up at the old guy, he swallowed hard, gaze fixed and worried.

Jack smiled and nodded. "Go on in. I think he's a little worried about you."

Dean was on his feet so fast, Jack nearly staggered back in surprise.

All Jack heard, as the door closed behind the older brother, was a softly spoken "Sammy? You ok buddy?"

Jack shook his head, laughing softly. Sibling misunderstandings and rivalry were probably the basic plots of some of the most successful TV shows on the planet. But maybe they could all learn a thing or two about brotherly love, just by knowing Sam and Dean for five minutes.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam gazed up at his big brother, eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have run away like that."

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, and studied Sam's flushed face, the remains of the fever still messing with his little brother. The kid looked way too small and vulnerable in the large hospital bed, and Dean felt a sudden bolt of panic that may be, just maybe, one day, he wouldn't always be able to protect him.

"No. You shouldn't."

Honesty was the best policy here, and though Dean didn't want to take Sam to task over something that wasn't really his fault, it was important to point out how badly it could have ended.

"Sammy, you could have been killed. When the Doc told us you collapsed in the middle of the road…" he shook his head "have you any idea what went through our minds? The images? You could have been crushed under a bus, or a truck. You were damn lucky Jack was there!"

Sam dipped his head and sniffed. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I didn't know what else to do. I thought you didn't want me around no more… an… and _Dad _was laughing… at _me…_"

To his surprise, Sam found himself gently enfolded in his big brother's arms, a large hand moving up to brush away his tears. His sling-wrapped arm was carefully supported as though he were made of china.

"Aw Sammy, s'not your fault little dude," Dean lightly rested his chin on the top of Sam's head. "You woke up halfway through a conversation never meant for your ears, and it freaked you out. I was gonna talk to you about it another time, when you were feeling better."

"About what?" Sam snuffled into the nasal canular, wishing he could remove the horrible thing.

"Well, for a start," Dean pulled away so he could look Sam in the eye. "You know I'd never do anything to intentionally hurt you, right?" When Sam nodded straight away, he asked another question. "So you trust me, right?"

Another furious bout of wide eyed nodding nearly had Dean chuckling. But this was _serious.._

"What I did was wrong. But it was just prank Sammy, and it wasn't meant to hurt you, and God knows it wasn't meant to end in you getting shot. That's another thing we're gonna talk about later, by the way, little brothers taking on masked gunmen? Dude! _So_ not right!" Dean raised an eyebrow in part annoyance and part pride, and Sam lowered his head.

"Was jus' doing what you taught me…" the kid mumbled petulantly.

"As I said, we'll talk about that later." Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. "And for the record, Dad wasn't really laughing at _you_, Sam; he was laughing at the joke. Dad was scared shitless when you went missing."

A small silence reigned whilst the younger brother digested that info.

"So…" Sam shrugged suddenly, and looked away, as though unsure whether or not to ask, then made up his mind to just get it out. "Why dya do it? Send me to the store for nothing, I mean?"

Dean sighed. _Here we go._

"Sam, just know that I love spending time with you, ok? Don't ever think otherwise, 'cause for a little brother? Ya pretty cool." He suppressed another chuckle when a small smile tugged at Sam's mouth. "But sometimes, a guy needs time alone, ya know? To think about where we're going, what we're gonna do next, to just... _be ourselves._ Do you understand me, Sam?"

Sam nodded slowly, thinking that one through.

Yeah, he was starting to get it. Lately Sam had been feeling kinda weird. He knew what it was; like some of his classmates, Sam was about to hit puberty, but knowing didn't make dealing with it any easier.

Sex as a concept wasn't a problem for Sam, his analytical young mind able to acknowledge the evolutionary advantages of reproduction. But it was the very thought of putting it into practice that sent shivers down his spine, and just lately, those shivers were becoming kinda _nice_. It was scary, but Sam was beginning to understand a few things about his big brother, and putting two and two together was proving easier than he thought.

"Sooo... is that what all those magazines are for?" Sam asked innocently, wondering at the sudden sharp look his brother sent him. "The ones hidden in the bottom of your duffle, with the pretty ladies on the cover?"

"Uh... Sammy?" Dean shifted, the expression on his face suggesting an anxiety attack wasn't entirely out of the question.

" They never seem to be wearing clothes! Won't they catch cold?"

"Uh..." Dean appeared to be struggling, his eyebrows performing away like demented trapeze artists.

"What magazines?" came a deeper voice from the other side of the room.

The look of sheer panic that crossed Dean's face when he looked up to find his father standing in the doorway, nearly had Sam snorting out loud.

"Uh... um... uh..." That seemed to be all the older brother could manage, as he clung desperately to the last of his composure, before it could slide down the drain along with all his street cred and self-respect.

John slyly winked at Sam, earning a big grin in exchange.

"So all those times I thought you were practicing exorcisms and cleansing rites in the bathroom mirror," his father gazed down at Dean, expression stern. "You were actually practicing an entirely _different_ kind of _ritual_."

Dean squirmed uncomfortably as he thought it through. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his dad, especially in front of his twelve year old brother! It started off as a small tingling in his ears, which soon turned into an outright burning sensation when the blush caught hold, and spread like wildfire.

"Dude, are you blushing?" John, unable to hold on to his mirth any longer, let out a loud guffaw that surprised both his sons. "My God! Dean, I witnessed your first steps, first words, and your first morning shave, but this... I've _never_ seen you embarrassed before now. This is _incredible!_"

Dean scowled when his little brother smirked and broke out into a fit of giggling.

"Shaddup Sam!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam didn't mind the wheelchair. Sure, he stood out like a sore thumb, and the seat itself wasn't all that comfortable, but he _was_ enjoying the ride. He squealed with delight when Dean hit the wheelchair ramp, and the two of them almost took off into the skies.

Sam tried to cover it up but his brother still noticed the grimace of pain when the chair crashed back down. Displaying a commendable amount of tact, Dean didn't say a word, just squeezed his good shoulder in apology. But that was their first and last attempt at achieving pilot status. Instead, Dean started making some pretty convincing Impala engine noises, Sam laughing along, as he pushed the chair round the hospital gardens at top speed, cutting up the other patients and nearly flooring one poor guy on crutches.

"Sorry!" Dean called back, and winced when the patient swore a blue streak and made some pretty interesting hand signals.

The two brothers, laughing and joking, one in the wheelchair, arm in a sling, and the other firmly gripping the chair handles as though he never wanted to let go, made their way across to the ice cream stand in the park opposite.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John smiled softly, as he watched his tearaway sons in action.

He was waiting in Doc Rozel's office for Sam's prescription medication, but Jack Molloy had sent the boys, and around twenty dollars, on their merry way to seek out and investigate the Italian ice cream merchant in the park across from the hospital.

Even from a distance, and through the office windows, John could see the glow of adoration on Dean's face whenever he glanced at Sam, and the corresponding puppy dog eyes of awe and hero worship on the younger boy. It reassured him; whatever had broken between the brothers was now fixed, and stronger than ever before.

All John needed to do now, was to make sure the laundry was taken care of that evening. Because the sun was hot, the ice cream was bound to melt…

…and his sons rarely passed up the chance to get mischievous with their old man.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**So there you are. Nothing special. Just a blatant excuse for a gunshot and distressed Sammy, with a hefty dose of his guilt ridden big brother.**_

_**Cheers my darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


End file.
